LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

©top* fejnjmW Iftu 

— — 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



LEGENDS AND STORIES 



OF THE 



Holy Child Jesus 

FROM MANY LANDS. 



COLLECTED BY 

A. FOWLER LUTZ, 

*4 

Author of 

"Little Dick's Christmas Carols" k ' One Step at a Tune" etc. 



"Sing ye to the Lord a new canticle, because He 

HATH DONE WONDERFUL THINGS." — Ps. XCvii. I. 



New York, Cincinnati, Chicago : 

BENZIGER BROTHERS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 



Copyright, 1894, by Benziger Brothers. 

~ 1 



The Libr 
of Conch 



Contents. 



PAGE 



Ireland. — "The Poorest of Them All," . 5 
England. — "Art Thou There, My Jesus?" . 21 
France. — My Little Doll, . . . .37 
Spain. — The Betrothal of Isabella, . . 66 
Italy. — II Santo Bambino dell' Ara Cceli, . 79 
Greece. — The Desired Haven, . . . . 91 
Portugal. — The Jaws of Death, . . .125 
Russia. — The Frozen Hands, . . . .136 
Denmark. — The Danish Boy; or, Wrecked 

among the Icebergs, 144 

Hungary. — The King of the Precipice, . .157 
Old England. — The Crusader, . . . 169 
Germany. — The Bell of the Mountain Chapel, 175 
Norway. — St. Guenelph's Fiord, . . .187 

China. — The Leper, 202 

South America. — The City of the Sun, . 217 

Syria. — The Holy Well, 233 

Belgium. — The Crown of Life, . . . 240 
Granada. — The Vision of St. John of God, . 252 
Valete, 256 




%zqzu&s trod States 

OF THE 

§©IY Child JeSuS. 



"The poorest of them all." 

But they made answer to Him, " Nay " — 
They were lords' and ladies' sons; 
And He, the poorest of them all, 
Was born in an ox's stall.— Old carol. 




HAT a grumpy old woman was Nanny- 
Fox ! How she used to storm at her 
little grandson Charlie ; and when 
she was not erippled and helpless 



with rheumatism, how she used to beat him too ! 
Even the rough crew of Tile Street, Dublin, 
where Nanny lived, cried shame on her for her 
ill-use of little Charlie. 

Not that Charlie ever complained, or made a 

5 



6 



fretand* 



fuss about any of his trials. He was a plucky- 
little chap, and his natural courage was 
strengthened by the grace of God given him 
in the sacraments and by prayer. " When Jesus 
is present, all is well, and nothing seems diffi- 
cult : most rich is he who is dear to Jesus " — 
that is what Charlie felt in his heart of hearts, 
though I don't think he could have told it in 
such a beautiful way. 

Charlie's father, old Nanny's son, had married 
when he was quite young. His wife had died 
when Charlie was born : she had been weak and 
ailing for some time, and her husband had not 
money enough to buy her food and nourishing 
things to keep her alive. For he had no trade; 
the little money he earned was for selling white 
mice and rats, of which he had always a great 
number in cages at home — in the one room in 
which they lived. Perhaps living in the stifling 
atmosphere with so many animals helped to kill 
the mother, as it certainly did Charlie's father, 
who, stricken with a fever, for want of pure air, 
good nursing, medicine, and nourishment, died 
when Charlie was only twelve years old. 

He had been good to his boy while he lived, 
for he had never forsaken his religious duties; 
and, when dying, he made Charlie promise faith- 
fully to go regularly to confession and com- 



44 £be ipoorest of tTbem Mil." 1 



munion, never to miss Mass on Sundays or days 
of obligation, and to be very devout to our 
blessed Lady. Charlie had promised, and in 
spite of temptations and difficulties had kept his 
promise manfully ; for our dear Mother upholds 
amid all trials and obstacles those who ask her 
for her help, and do not turn aside when it 
comes. 

Nanny was a wicked old woman. She had 
drowned all the whispers of her conscience in 
gin, long ago ; and if at times loud warnings 
would make themselves heard, she hugged the 
devil closer to her heart, till at last she heard no 
voice, obeyed no dictates, but his. Charlie took 
care of the mice, and went about the streets 
with them trying to sell them. It was not such 
a poor business, after all. Many children liked to 
watch the little pets running up ladders, play- 
ing hide-and-seek, and doing the other pretty 
tricks that Charlie taught them ; and they gen- 
erally begged pennies from their nurses or par- 
ents to give to Charlie, who would have got on 
very well as far as money was concerned if it 
had not been for his grandmother. But old 
Nanny took all his money from him at the end 
of the day, and spent most of it for gin. 

Charlie could have kept it from her had he 
chosen, for of course he need not have told 



8 



ITrelanfc. 



her how much money he had taken during the 
day ; but he had promised his father to be good 
to her — his father had not foreseen the result — 
and he could never tell a lie, or deceive the least 
little bit in the world, not even though his 
grandmother took the money for gin, and left 
him half-starved and in rags. Drink is so 
selfish, so unkind : it uproots the feelings that 
are deepest-rooted by God in our hearts — the 
longing for Him and the love of our own 
relations. 

When Nanny was ill, Charlie was as gentle 
and forbearing with her as a Sister of Charity. 
Not that he was perfect. Now and then, when 
she sent him to the public house at the end of 
the street to spend some of his hard-won cop- 
pers on gin, Charlie would stand in the street 
outside the door of the " Red Lion" for a mo- 
ment and stamp his foot, and say dreadful 
words, in his rage that such things should be. 

Now and then, too, he would watch some well- 
dressed boy of his own age. There was one in 
particular he often saw walking by the side of 
his mother or companions, chatting gayly, and 
going in and out of toy, sweet, or book shops ; 
and dark rebellious thoughts would come into 
the poor boy's heart, and a half-quelled murmur 
against God for making him poor. 



" Sbe poorest of £bem SU." 



9 



One winter in particular, old Nanny was very 
trying. She began by taking all the money she 
.could get for gin, and often Charlie had not 
enough for food. It was no unusual thing for 
him to have only a hunch of dry bread for his 
dinner, and neither breakfast nor supper. He 
was more than usually cheerful and patient, how- 
ever, for he was preparing for confirmation ; and 
Father Southwell, who was instructing him, 
guessing at many things in Charlie's life that 
the boy kept secret, took advantage of the time, 
not only to fit his instructions with the boy's 
daily need, but also to keep him back some- 
times when the rest of the class was dismissed, 
to give him a few kind, encouraging words, 
to help him on his way. 

You who are surrounded by loving friends 
and relatives little know the worth of kind 
words of sympathy to a soul that is in its daily 
struggle alone but for unseen help. 

One day Charlie was coming home, after a 
long tramp ; it was so cold and snowy that few 
people had ventured out, and Charlie had not 
liked to disturb the little mice in their warm 
nest of hay, to make them perform. He met a 
funny little old gentleman in Tile Street — a most 
unusual place to meet any one in clean, respect- 
able clothes. 



10 



ITrelanfc* 



"Ah! you're the white-mice boy? " he said, 
stopping Charlie. 

"Yes, sir," answered Charlie, who remem- 
bered to have seen the old gentleman in church 
and in a house at the other end of the town, 
where the rich people lived. 

" Well, and where do you live, and where are 
your father and mother? " 

Charlie thought the old gentleman very in- 
quisitive, but being a very modest, courteous 
boy, he answered quietly : 

"I live at No. 17, sir; and my father and 
mother are dead." 

"Do you live alone?" asked the old gentle- 
man. 

" No, sir; I live with my grandmother." 

" What's her name?" was the next question. 

" Nanny Fox," answered Charlie, more and 
more astonished, and truth to tell, a little an- 
noyed at being catechised so abruptly. 

" And how much do you make a day?" 

"Sometimes ninepence or a shilling; never 
more than that. Sometimes I don't sell any- 
thing or take any coppers all day." 

" You'll never make your fortune at that rate," 
said the old gentleman. " And how much do 
you give to your grandmother? " 

" All I get," Charlie answered sharply, for he 



" Cbe poorest of Zbcm mi" H 



was getting very angry at having his affairs 
pried into. 

"All! Stuff and nonsense! Don't tell lies, 
boy," said the old gentleman tartly. 

" Very veil, sir. Why did you ask me all 
those questions, which are no business of yours, 
if you did not intend to believe me? " 

The old gentleman was more pleased with 
Charlie's sudden blaze of wrath than he cared 
to show. He chuckled away in his white silk 
handkerchief that was muffled all about his 
throat and ears, but he only said : 

"Here's sixpence for you, boy." 

" I don't want your sixpence," answered Char- 
lie. 

"Why won't you take it? You take money 
from other people." 

"That's for my white mice, or for making 
them act," said the boy. " If I let you pay me 
for answering your questions, you might come 
and ask some more to-morrow, and I won't an- 
swer them." 

Charlie was very angry. He hated the old 
man, and would have gone home penniless rather 
than take his money. 

"Very well," said the old gentleman, and 
went on his way. If Charlie had looked round, 
he would have seen the old man standing still 



12 



flrelanfc* 



in the middle of the pavement to look after him ; 
and if he had followed him, he would have heard 
him talking to himself in this wise : 

" Very fine lad ; I quite believe all Father 
Southwell tells me about him ; a great deal more 
there is, too, as I have learned from the neigh- 
bors; more, too, if one only knew it. Dreadful 
old woman ! " he added, waving his stiek fierce- 
ly in the air. The dreadful old woman was 
Charlie's grandmother. He had been asking 
questions of others in Tile Street that after- 
noon, and had learned a great deal about 
Charlie that had convinced him of the justice 
of the good opinion he had formed of the boy 
from seeing him in church. 

We will leave Charlie, having seen him met at 
the door by Nanny and beaten with her crutch 
for having brought home so little money, shiv- 
ering and sobbing in the miserable attic that he 
called home (for even he broke down some- 
times), and follow the old gentleman home. He 
lived, as I have said, in the better part of the 
town, in a large house standing back from the 
road, in a pretty garden. It was dark when he 
reached home, and the warm, well-lighted hall 
as he entered struck him in painful contrast to 
the houses in Tile Street. For Sir Charles Fel- 
ton was a good old man, with a large heart brim- 



"Gbe ipooreet of Cbem mi" 13 



ful of love for God and his neighbors, and his 
questions had not been purposeless or merely 
inquisitive; but I must not tell his secret yet. 

He went into the drawing-room as soon as he 
had taken off his things, where he found Lady 
Felton, a lady as good and kind as you could 
wish, and Annie, their daughter, true child of 
such parents. There was also a little boy about 
thirteen years old, though he looked much 
younger, curled up in the most comfortable 
chair in the room, reading. 

"Late again, father," said Annie, getting up 
and moving a chair near the fire for Sir Charles. 
" It's six o'clock, but we waited afternoon tea for 
you, as it was such a wretched afternoon." Be 
it noted the little boy did not offer to move, not 
even to look up and smile a greeting to his 
grandfather. 

"Where have you been?" asked Lady Felton 
as she gave Sir Charles his tea. 

" In Tile Street, making inquiries about that 
little white-mice boy that we have all taken a 
fancy to." 

"Oh! I am so glad, father," said Annie. "I 
hope he is the little saint we think him." 

"Very nearly, very nearly," answered Sir' 
Charles. He told them all he had heard about 
Charlie. 



14 



ITrelanfc* 



"He's a namesake of yours, Charlie," he 
added, turning to his little grandson. But the 
boy gave no answering smile. He looked up 
for a moment from his book half-contemptuously 
and then went on reading. 

He had only been with his grandfather and 
grandmother for a month or two, since his 
father's regiment had been ordered out to India, 
and his mother had gone too. At home he had 
been left to himself a great deal; his mother 
spoiled him or took no notice of him. His 
father was never at home, and being supposed 
to be too delicate to go to school, he had had a 
private tutor, who came only for three hours in 
the morning. Charlie had been left a great deal 
to the servants, who had filled his head with 
pride and nonsense. The consequence of all this 
was that he was a very disagreeable, overbearing 
little boy, and considered it an insult to his 
dignity to have a poor street boy spoken of as 
his namesake. 

His grandfather noticed his disdainful man- 
ner, and being very particular about respectful 
behavior in children, ordered him out of the 
room. 

" That boy is perfectly unbearable, with his 
airs and graces," he said. " He is so rude and 
unmannerly, too." 



u Zbc poorest of Cbem UIV 9 15 



" Yes, it's a great pity," said Lady Felton. 

" The only grandson, too, and always the eld- 
est. But I think we shall be able to do some- 
thing with him, and he will get a lot of it knocked 
out of him at school." 

" What have you been doing all day?" asked 
Sir Charles of his daughter. 

" I have been out with coal tickets this morn- 
ing. We went for a drive in the afternoon, and 
since then I have been practising for the concert 
in the schoolroom to-morrow." 

Soon it was time to dress for dinner, so they 
had no further talk about either of the Charlies, 
though they were none the less the subject of 
much thought. Sir Charles could not help con- 
trasting their behavior to their grandparents. 

"And the difference between them," he said 
in a loud voice in the middle of dinner, to every- 
body's surprise. 

" Difference between what? " asked Annie, 
laughing. 

" Your mother and that poor boy's grand- 
mother," he answered warmly. " And to think — " 
but suddenly remembering the servants, he, 
relapsed into silent thought. 

The next day the ground was covered with 
snow. Charlie, our first friend, started out with 
his mice, for it was a bright, clear day, and he 



16 



ITrelanfc* 



thought he would be sure to get some coppers, 
for many people would be about shopping now, 
it was so near Christmas. 

When he came to the upper part of the town, 
which was more like country than town, with 
its detached houses in their large gardens and 
wide roads with avenues of trees, he saw a lot 
of boys making a snow man. When they had 
finished it, they began to shy snowballs at the 
pipe they had stuck in its mouth. 

Charlie, unthinking, and with a boy's love of 
fun, made up a snowball and threw it. It just 
struck the barrel of the pipe and knocked it out 
of the snow man's mouth. 

<; Bravo ! " cried most of the boys, in admira- 
tion of the good aim. But one of them came 
up to him and said haughtily, " Go away ! W T hat 
right have you to shy at our snow man, you dirty 
little cad? " 

Not a blow with Nanny's crutch, or a cold 
night on the bare floor, would have made the 
poor boy wince with pain, or the tears gather 
in his eyes, as did these cruel words uttered by 
Charlie Felton. Little did the latter know his 
grandfather was within sight and earshot. 

" Shame ! " cried the other boys, and one of 
them ran after Charlie Fox and asked him to 
come back and share in the game. But he was 



" XLbc ipoorest of Zhcm 2111/' 17 



too deeply wounded, and he ran off. Just as he 
was turning a corner of the road, he met the 
little old gentleman of the night before. 

" Ah! my boy, we have met again. I wanted 
to see you. The day after to-morrow's Christ- 
mas Day, and you and I will forget that we mis- 
understood each other last night, and you will 
come to wish me 'a merry Christmas' after 
High Mass. I live at Felton House, but in case 
I miss you after church or you forget, I have 
written it down on this piece of paper." 

Giving Charlie the piece of paper, he bustled 
off. 

Charlie Felton came in to luncheon glowing 
with health and fun ; he was rather surprised at 
his grandfather's dry, short answers to all he 
said. "But he is such a queer old stick," he 
said to himself. 

In the evening he went to the concert in the 
school. He enjoyed the first part very much. 
He always imagined himself of much impor- 
tance when he went out with his grandfather, as 
every one made so much of Sir Charles, for all 
loved and honored the good old man. 

In the second part of the programme was a 
pretty old Christmas carol sung by four of the 
school children, each taking a different part. It 
is an old English one, not so well known as 



18 



ITrelanO* 



many others, though beautiful in the lesson it 
teaches. 

Charlie could not make out why his grand- 
father fixed his eyes on him with such a mean- 
ing look. I will give some of the verses here, 
and you will discover, as Charlie did, at the 
third verse what Sir Charles meant by it. 

As it fell out one May morning, 
On one bright holiday, 
Sweet Jesus asked of His dear Mother 
If He might go and play. 
"To play, to play, sweet Jesus shall go, 
And to play now get you gone ; 
And let me hear of no complaint 
At night when you come home." 

Sweet Jesus went down to yonder town, 

As far as the Holy Well, 

And there did see as fine children 

As any tongue can tell. 

He said : "God bless you every one, 

And Christ your portion be. 

Little children, shall I play with you? 

And you shall play with Me." 

But they made answer to Him, "Nay" — 
They were lords' and ladies' sons; 
And He, the poorest of them all, 
Was born in an ox's stall. 



Cbe poorest of Gbem ail." 19 



Sweet Jesus turned Him about, 
And He neither laughed nor smiled, 
But tears came trickling from His eyes 
Like water from the skies. 

Charlie grew redder and more uncomfortable 
every moment tinder his grandfather's gaze. 
He guessed now that Sir Charles had seen his 
unkindness to the little white-mice boy in the 
morning. 

And poor Charlie, w r ho was there owing to 
the kind forethought of Father Southwell, his 
only friend, who gave him any little treat he 
could, rejoiced in thinking that at least in one 
point he resembled our most sweet Lord, who, 
with His dear Mother, suffered such poverty and 
hardship and contempt for our sake. 

Nothing more was said by Sir Charles, but on 
Christmas morning after High Mass, when Char- 
lie Fox came to Felton House, his little name- 
sake received him with kind words and frankly 
spoken regret for his cruel speech about the 
snow man, and offered to give all his Christmas 
presents to make atonement. 

He was as active as his grandfather ever after 
in trying to be kind to the poor, especially to 
Charlie Fox, who was given regular work in the 
garden by Sir Charles; and the boys became 
such friends that when they were grown up and 



20 



•ffrelanD. 



Sir Charles and his son dead and little Charlie 
succeeded to the title and estates, his namesake 
was made his agent — nay, more, his confidential 
and honored friend. 

Dear children, the winter is as cold now as 
then; the poor suffer in as great reality; all 
around us are the poor, the sick, and the sad. 
If we cannot give alms, if we cannot go on 
errands of mercy and charity, we can at least 
speak words of brotherly love and comfort. We 
can love all, as we would wish to be loved our- 
selves. Is it much to ask of us one little encour- 
aging sentence to some one weary at heart, one 
little act of self-denial to help the needy? Much? 
No, nothing. Is anything too great a sacrifice 
for the love of our most sweet Lord? We can 
never, never love Him enough, never do any- 
thing to show the millionth part of our gratitude 
to Him. And let us not forget our dearest 
Mother, Mary ; let us ask of her to help us give 
ourselves and all we have in the best and wisest 
way to sweet Jesus for His Christmas gift. We 
will offer our gifts through her, for then we 
know they will be accepted ; for her Son will 
welcome all that comes through her hands, and 
we shall be safe in His keeping now and ever- 
more. 



England. 



"Art thou There, my jesus?" 

If our love were but more simple, 
We should take Him at His word ; 

And our lives would be all sunshine 
In the service of Our Lord. 



I. 

ITTLE Stephen ran along the streets, 
one raw morning in November, to 
school. Every now and then he 
stopped to wipe his eyes with his 
blue hands or his dirty pinafore, or to give vent 
to a heartrending sob. When he passed by the 
baker's, the sob rose into a wail of despair; for 
Stephen's supper the night before had been but 
a hunch of bread, and he had had no breakfast 
that morning. 

Stephen's father was out of work, his mother 
could only earn a little by going out charring, 
and nearly all her scanty earnings were forced 
from her by Stephen's father to spend in drink. 




England 



And when he had been drinking he beat his wife 
and children; and so, besides the cold and hun- 
ger he had to bear, poor little Stephen was sore 
from bruises. Altogether, he was as unfit for a 
morning's work in school as any little boy can 
possibly be. 

" Hallo, Steve," cried some one behind him, 
as he turned the last corner and came in sight 
of the school-house, " what are you crying 
for?" 

Stephen turned and saw Jack Thompson, a 
much bigger boy than himself, but still a great 
friend. 

"I'm so cold and hungry," he faltered, "and 
father beat me last night because I cried when 
he hit mother." 

" Haven't you had any breakfast?" 

" No," and Stephen sobbed again, for he felt 
a wolf gnawing at his stomach. 

" Here," said Jack, putting his hand into his 
pocket, and drawing thence two slices of bread 
and dripping, " you can have both these, for 
father and mother are both in work, and so we 
have plenty to eat just now." 

Stephen took the bread and dripping from his 
companion eagerly, and sitting down on a door- 
step began to devour his breakfast. 

"Poor old chap," said Jack, watching him 



"Brt Gbou Cbere, ttsy Jesus?" 



2-6 



with honest pleasure. " Your father ain't done 
no work for nigh on two months, have he?" 

"No," said Stephen. "We ain't had no fire 
this winter. Mother couldn't get no work last 
week neither, and so we have had very little to 
eat." 

Just then the school-bell rang, and the clock 
struck nine. 

" Oh, I say now," cried Stephen, who had only 
just eaten his first slice of bread. 

" Never mind, I'll wait for you, and we'll go 
in late together." 

" All right, but don't you get into trouble just 
for me." 

" Pooh," returned Jack loftily. "What do I 
care? As long as I have enough to eat and drink, 
and a fire to warm me when it's cold, I don't 
care a fig for all the rest." 

When at last Stephen was ready, and they 
went into school, the master was chalking up 
the names of the late-comers on the blackboard 
for punishment. 

" John Thompson," he said frowning on Jack. 
" The third time this week you have been late 
for school. I shall cane you to-day, sir. Stand 
by my desk. As for you, Stephen Grey, you 
are as naughty a little boy of six years old as is 
to be found in London. Go and stand on the 



24 



dunce's stool in the corner, with the dunce's cap 
on your head." 

And so on, until all the culprits had been 
called over, and a punishment given to each. 

Jack held out his hand bravely, looking over 
at Stephen and winking at him as he saw how 
the poor little boy was distressed at his being 
caned through his fault. Indeed, he tossed his 
head and glanced round with such an air of cool 
contempt that the master struck him smartly 
on the head with the cane. 

Every bone in poor Stephen's little body 
ached, so that he could hardly stand upright, 
and he could not keep back the tears which 
flowed down his face. 

"Do you want to wash your face?" sneered 
the master. " You might do that before com- 
ing to school, I think." 

He looked round at the boys, expecting them 
to smile at his wit, but they were sorry for 
Stephen, for most of them knew what it was to 
be very cold and very hungry too. They most 
of them looked sulky or indifferent, and not 
one smiled. This made the master more 
angry, and he went up and slapped Stephen's 
face. 

Poor little Stephen, the unkindness hurt him 
far more than the blow. 



"Brt ftbou Zbete, SesueV* 



&5 



At twelve o'clock he went out into the streets 
to wander about until afternoon school. He 
dared not go home, for his father could not bear 
him, and his mother herself did not love him 
half as much as his little brother of four years 
old. 

He cried again a little, for a wolf was gnaw- 
ing at his stomach very pitilessly, and his 
hands and feet were quite numb with the cold. 

"What is the matter, my little man?" asked 
a kind voice suddenly, while a gentle hand ca- 
ressed his bare head and tangled curls. 

Stephen sobbed out: 

" I'm so cold and hungry, and it's such a long 
time to wait." 

" Have you no home to go to?" asked the gen- 
tleman so gently that Stephen looked up at him, 
and saw a kind, holy face. It was a Dominican 
Father, who had been out visiting the poor all 
the morning. 

" We've nothing to eat at home. Jack said he 
would try and bring me a bit of bread and 
cheese if he could get it from his mother." 

"Don't wait for Jack, then," said the priest. 
" Come home with me, and I will try to find you 
something warm. Come along, and don't be 
afraid. But how is it that you have nothing 
to eat at home? " 



26 



England 



" Father's out of work, and mother too; and 
there's so very little, and I have a little brother, 
and they must feed him first because he's only 
a baby." 

" Poor little chap, and how old are you? But 
here's the house. Come in, and we'll see what 
there is to eat first." 

A younger man in a white habit opened the 
door. He smiled when he saw the little boy, 
and taking him by the hand led him away to a 
little room, where he washed his face and hands 
and feet in warm water, and giving him a chair 
by a little table near the fire, brought him in a 
nice bowl of soup, and afterward a plate of meat 
and bread, such as Stephen had never eaten be- 
fore. 

After he had finished, the kind priest came in 
and asked him if he had enjoyed his dinner, and 
where he lived, and a great many other ques- 
tions. 

"Now, my boy," he said finally, "to-morrow 
you may come at seven o'clock with as many 
other little companions as you like to bring, and 
we will give you as much bread and butter as 
you can eat, and perhaps a little plum cake into 
the bargain." 

Stephen's eyes brightened as he looked up at 
the kind, smiling face, and tried to thank the 



Father. He could only stammer out a few 
words, but his bright eager eyes were far more 
eloquent. 

II. 

The next evening Jack and Stephen, with 
some of their picked companions, who they 
were sure would not be " cheeky," put their 
heads under the pump in " Pine Apple Court," 
where they lived, and set off for the house in 
Green Street. They arrived before the church 
about six o'clock, and loitered about, and played 
a few games until the clock chimed seven. Then, 
each pushing the other to the front, they 
crowded round the door, and Jack timidly rang 
the bell. 

Father Gregory, the priest who had found 
Steve the day before, opened the door, and with 
a kind smile of welcome said : 

"Ah, here you are. Come in, come in; 
there's room for you all, and many more too, 
both in our hearts and in our room." 

The boys crowded into the large room pre- 
pared for their reception, in which there was a 
blazing fire. A long table was spread with 
plates of bread and butter and cake, teacups, 
and a steaming urn. Two more priests and a 



2S 



EnglanD. 



brother came in to wait on them, while Father 
Gregory poured out the tea. 

At one end of the room was a crucifix, at the 
other a statue of the Blessed Virgin with her 
divine Child in her arms. Round the wall were 
hung pictures of the life of our blessed Lord, 
of His childhood, His public life, and His suffer- 
ings. 

There were also book-shelves containing old 
and new books, which had been given the priests 
for their mission to the boys of East London. 
After the boys had eaten as much as they could, 
and pocketed unlimited slices of cake for the 
next day, Father Gregory gathered them round 
him, and talked to them, and listened to their 
tales of misery, for they were all children of 
very poor parents. He then told them why he 
wished to make friends with them, and asked 
them so lovingly to -always look upon him as 
their friend, that he won their hearts at once. 

" You all know what it is to suffer, to bear 
pain and hunger and cold," he said. "Now, I 
want to show you how to be happy in spite of 
all these things." 

Then he spoke of Jesus, of His love, and of 
all He suffered for us, and of how His presence 
makes every hardship sweet and every burden 
light. He told them of the birth of Jesus in 



"Brt Gbou Gbere, /IIM2 -Jesus?" 



29 



the manger, and though some of them had been 
sometimes to Sunday-school, they never real- 
ized till they heard these words of burning love 
that Jesus had done all this for love of them : for 
each one of them moreover. 

They promised gladly to come again, indeed 
they would have come every night of the week, 
but Father Gregory, with foresight and wisdom, 
judged that it would be better to let them come 
twice a week only, that they might not grow 
tired afterward. 

III. 

Some time passed away, and the boys attended 
the evening classes pretty regularly. Stephen 
was especially eager ; his mother, strange to say, 
had taken some interest in the evening classes, 
and had given Father Gregory permission to 
baptize him, and also his little brother, who re- 
ceived the name of Aloysius. She noticed how 
much gentler little Stephen was through the 
priest's influence, and how bravely he bore his 
father's bad temper, and how much he tried to 
help her in cleaning the little room where they 
lived, and to run her errands. 

It was very near Christmas, and though Ste- 
phen's father was still out of work, and the only 



30 



England 



good meals the little boys ever had were given 
them by the Fathers, his heart was full of joy, 
for on Christmas Day he was to walk in a pro- 
cession in honor of the infant Saviour. 

His old friend, Jack Thompson, was to be in the 
procession too. Jack had corresponded to the 
graces offered to him with his noble generosity 
of heart; and Stephen and he were bound by a 
closer tie than their old friendship now. They 
were to make their first confession on Christmas 
Eve, and to be baptized on the same day ; and 
after Christmas they were both going to leave 
the school of the unkind master, and attend the 
school of the Fathers, which was quite free. 

They were now also being taught for the first 
time of holy Communion, and the great love of 
their most sweet Lord in the Holy Sacrament 
of the Altar. The boys drank in every word 
breathlessly ; at last arose the cry in their erst 
lone hearts, " We have found a Friend ever pres- 
ent, the same to-day, to-morrow, and forever/' 

Every day they went together to pray in the 
little church, and to ask Jesus for all they 
wanted, and to tell Him that they loved Him 
dearly. 

Stephen was a little apostle, and was teaching 
little Aloysius all he learned. He took him to 
church every day, when it was fine. 



"art £bou £bere, flhv Sesusl" 



31 



One morning, just before Christmas week, 
Stephen came running to Jack, between morn- 
ing school and dinner-time ; he was all out of 
breath, and could hardly gasp out : 

"I say, Jack, I can't find the little one; what 
shall I do? " 

"Perhaps he's gone home without you, or 
perhaps with another boy ; where did you leave 
him?" 

" Just on the doorstep at No. 19. I ran to ask 
mother if we were to go home to dinner, or if I 
was to bring it here." 

" Phew," whistled Jack, rather frightened him- 
self. There were so many dangerous crossings, 
and Aloysius never would sit still for five min- 
utes at a time. 

"Why, of course," he burst out suddenly, a 
gleam of hope lighting up his face. " You 
haven't looked in church for him, have you?" 

" Oh, no. How stupid, to be sure ! " answered 
Stephen. " Come quick, let's go and see." 

The church was dark, the windows being all 
painted, and one side being overshadowed by 
the wall of a house. For a minute the boys 
could see nothing on entering, but they soon 
heard a little baby voice speaking aloud : 

" Art Thou there, my Jesus ?" 

They heard a little tap, they crept on tip-toe 



32 



toward the choir, and saw Aloysius sitting on 
the altar tapping at the little golden door of the 
tabernacle. They saw Father Gregory come 
out of his confessional ; he, too, as well as they, 
was about to go up to Aloysius when a sweet, 
gentle voice that fell on their ears like music 
from heaven answered : 

" Yes, My little child, I am here. What do 
you want of Me? " 

" Dear Jesus, I want father to get some work, 
and not to drink and beat mother and Steve any 
more. Will you make him, dear Jesus, please? 
And take care of dear Father Gregory? And 
make mother grow fat, and leave off crying? 
Dear Jesus, I love You very much, more even 
than father and mother and Steve." 

" Dear child, go home and tell your father 
that I want him to love Me," again answered 
the Saviour, who so tenderly loves little chil- 
dren. " Tell him he must love Me, and that I 
will always be his friend." 

" Oh, thank you, thank you, dear Jesus ! " cried 
the little boy gleefully. " Dear, dear Jesus, 
good-by." 

He got down from the altar by means of a 
chair, which he had dragged quite close, and 
came running down the church. Then he per- 
ceived his brother and the priest, together with 



"Brt Zhou XLheve, fihy Seenst" 33 



Jack, kneeling in adoration of their divine 
Lord. 

"Come, Steve," he said, "come quick, and 
tell father." 

" Go, my child," said Father Gregory, as Ste- 
phen looked up to him, " go, and God will not 
fail to bless you." 

His eyes were full of tears ; his heart was full 
of gratitude and love, for these were the little 
children whom he had gathered together for 
Him who said, " Suffer the little children to 
come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such 
is the kingdom of heaven." 

The two little brothers ran off home. A half- 
fear just crossed Stephen's mind that perhaps 
his father would be in the public house. But 
no, he was at home crouching over a miserable 
fire, which the mother had made to do some 
washing she had obtained. 

" Daddy," said little Aloysius, caressingly pat- 
ting his father's face, " Jesus sent us to tell you 
He wants you to love Him." 

He kissed his father again and again, and 
said: 

"You will love Him, daddy, won't you? 
Then He will be your friend and give you some 
work ; and we will be so happy together. Come, 
now, and let us go together and tell Him 

3 



84 



BngtanD, 



you are going to love Him with me. Come, 
dad!" 

What was it but the grace of God that touched 
the man's heart, that made him press his little 
child to his breast, while the tears ran down on 
the little curly head? 

The touch of Him who healed the blind, the 
deaf, even the leper, is as powerful now as then, 
and did we but trust in Him " our lives would 
be all sunshine in the service of Our Lord." 

The father rose, and, taking his hat, said sim- 
ply: 

" Come, then, my lad, I'll go with you." 

Just as he was, in his ragged working clothes; 
he let his little boy lead him to the church, and 
he knelt with Steve and Aloysius before the 
altar, and even as they prayed once more the 
heavenly voice fell on their ears : 

" Come unto Me, all ye that are weary and 
heavy laden, and I will give you rest." 

Then the last barrier was broken down in the 
poor man's soul. He wept tears of joy and re- 
pentance; he let the little boys lead him to 
Father Gregory, and he begged himself to be 
brought into the fold of the Good Shepherd. 

By Christmas Day a place was found for the 
father with good wages, the mother had had 
some work in the Christmas preparations, and 



"Hrt £bou {Tbere, flfoy Jesus?" 35 



all their better clothes were out of pawn, so that 
they were quite clean and tidy at Mass. 

And though they thanked God for all these 
benefits, and the good food that replaced their 
dry-bread dinners, their chief joy arose from 
their happiness at being present together at 
Mass and kneeling by the manger — the thought 
that Jesus was born in a stable, a lowly infant, 
outcast by the world for their sakes, and to be 
their Saviour and their friend. 

From that time the family prospered. The 
father was never out of work ; he was so steady 
and capable that he rose to be foreman in the 
large factory in which he worked, and never 
knelt down at night to thank God for the bless- 
ings of the day without special gratitude " to 
Him that giveth the victory." 

The mother no longer went out to work ; in 
fact, in a few years they were able to move from 
the East End to a comfortable cottage at Syden- 
ham, with a nice little garden, where they were 
quite looked up to and respected by all the 
neighbors. 

Stephen and Aloysius both obtained the grace 
of a vocation to the priesthood. Aloysius went 
as a missionary to the lepers of Japan and died 
a martyr, killed by those to whom he had been 
a ministering angel. 



86 



England 



Stephen labored on in London, and died after 
having brought many to the faith of Jesus and 
saved many from the demon drink. 

Jack Thompson, whose father suddenly came 
into a large fortune, founded an orphanage for 
boys; and his old life having given him much 
experience in the ways of boys, he had such a 
knack of winning their confidence that the most 
depraved came of their own free will and sub- 
mitted themselves to the discipline which he 
was very strict in maintaining. He was never 
tired of telling them about his old friends, 
Steve, Father Gregory, and above all the won- 
derful story of little Aloysius, and the kindness 
of Jesus in the Most Holy Sacrament of the 
Altar. 




jfrance. 



MY LITTLE DOLL. 

Know then, dear brother, in these Christmas hours, 

Sorrow, like snow, will melt if He but smile ; 
And if He clothe thy wintry path with flowers, 
Amidst thy mirth think on His thorns a while, 

I. 

GNES LE ROY DE MARCOURT 
was a spoiled child. I am very 
sorry to have to say so, but it is 
nevertheless quite true. The Count 
Le Roy de Marcourt was very rich, and Agnes 
had everything she could wish for ; moreover she 
had no little brothers and sisters to contradict 
her. The servants gave way to her in every- 
thing, and she grew to think herself quite a little 
queen, whose every wish must be obeyed, and 
that very promptly too. Monsieur l'Abbe 
Warambon, the cure of the parish in which the 
Count's Paris hotel was situated, came to give 
her instructions and teach her the catechism, 

37 




88 



3France, 



and he spoke often to her very seriously about 
her selfishness. He told her how useless it was 
to fill silver vases with lovely hothouse flowers 
for the altar, if the flowers God had planted in 
her heart were choked by bad temper and self- 
love ; how vain it was to light forty or fifty wax 
tapers in honor of the infant Jesus, if she had no 
love for Him in her heart and no desire to imi- 
tate His beautiful example. He also reminded 
her that Jesus Himself said, when speaking of 
kindness to the poor, " Inasmuch as ye have 
done it unto the least of these My brethren, ye 
have done it unto Me." 

But Agnes, though impressed for the time, 
soon forgot ; she would take out her little purse 
and offer all its contents to Monsieur l'Abbe, 
and beg him not to refuse her impulsive offer- 
ing; half an hour afterward she would have for- 
gotten, and be so wrapped up in her own amuse- 
ments that she forgot there were any poor 
people in the world at all, though nowhere is 
there such appalling misery as in the great city 
outwardly so gay and bright. 

One day, when she was out in the carriage 
with her father and mother, they drove down to 
the large shop called the " Grands Magasins du 
Louvre," where there were to be seen every 
kind of novelty— hats, bonnets, dresses, and 



m little Boll 



89 



above all, there was one part devoted to the 
children, in which were the most lovely dolls, 
life-size, dressed in magnificent costumes. 

The Countess went into the shop to buy some 
linen for poor people and a few things for her- 
self, and she left Agnes in the carriage, as the 
little girl was apt to prove very tiresome in a 
shop by asking questions all the time, fidget- 
ing, and growing very impatient. 

"Take me in too, mamma," she said. "I'll 
promise to be good if you will." 

" No, no," answered her father impatiently. 
" Last time I took you into a shop you were so 
rude and naughty that I said you should stay 
outside for the future until you have learned 
how to behave yourself." 

Agnes frowned and pouted, but she dared not 
answer her father when he was angry with her, 
and she knew that what he said was only too true. 

As soon as her father and mother had disap- 
peared inside she turned to the footman, who 
was standing at the carriage door. 

" Tell Antoine to drive round to where the 
playthings are," she said. 

The coachman obeyed, knowing that to cross 
her will was rather dangerous in the street, as 
at any moment she might begin to cry and cause 
a crowd to gather round the carriage. 



40 



JFrance. 



" Take me down, Pierre," was her next com- 
mand to the footman. 

"I mustn't, Mademoiselle," answered Pierre 
uneasily. " Monsieur le Comte said Mademoi- 
selle was to remain in the carriage. Monsieur 
et Madame will soon be ready now." 

" If you don't take me down this minute, I'll 
scream as loud as ever I can," retorted the 
naughty little girl, growing red in the face with 
passion. 

Pierre well knew what her loud screams were 
like ; he knew too that she was pretty sure to 
keep her word, so he lifted her down on to the 
pavement, and ran round to find his mistress 
and tell her what had happened. The Countess 
came quickly to her little girl, and found her 
gazing in at the window. 

" Come, dear, papa is ready, and does not like 
to be kept waiting. Papa is going to the station 
to meet his brother; so come, dear." 

" I want to go in and buy that dear little dolly 
in china," answered Agnes. "Look, mamma — 
that one with the blue dress and little white 
pinafore, and the long flaxen hair. Come in, 
mamma, and buy her." 

"We haven't time, dear," answered her 
mother, who expected that when the doll was 
bought Agnes would insist on having chairs and 



m little Boll. 



41 



tables, and seven or eight dresses to fit the 
doll. 

" Come H said her father impatiently. " I will 
not have Agnes out in the carriage with me 
again ; naughty girl, she would disgrace a chim- 
ney-sweeper !" 

Agnes threw herself down on the dirty pave- 
ment and burst into a loud roar. 

" Take the carriage and go to the station," said 
the Countess to her husband. " I will bring Ag- 
nes home in a cab as soon as we have bought 
the doll. We shall have all Paris round us if she 
does not stop that noise." 

The Count drove off after Pierre had called a 
cab, and Agnes was taken into the shop by her 
mother to buy the little doll, which certainly 
was the loveliest ever seen, with its long flaxen 
hair, forget-me-not blue eyes, tiny little nose, 
and rosebud mouth half-open, showing two rows 
of pearly teeth. She could sit down, kneel 
down, and stand up, and move her arms, and 
was beautifully dressed in blue and white. 

Agnes did nothing but kiss and caress her 
doll all the way home. 

" Don't you love my little doll, mamma? 
What shall I call her? Mamma, don't you think 
she's a perfect love of a doll?" 

When they reached the Count's hotel in the 



42 



France, 



Avenue des Champs-Elysees, Agnes ran up to 
the nursery to show her new treasure to the old 
nurse, who had been with her ever since her 
birth, and had in fact been nurse to the Countess. 
At tea-time she put it on the table, and kept 
taking it up to kiss it. 

" Nounou, isn't she a pet? Don't you love 
her? I think she's the sweetest little dear I 
ever saw. I love her." 

" I shouldn't think she would love you if she 
could," replied nurse dryly. " You keep taking 
her up with your sticky fingers, and kissing her 
just after eating, dirty girl.'' 

Nurse always scolded Agnes on principle; 
she saw how spoiled the child was getting, and 
thought it her duty to say all the most disagree- 
able things that she could think of — the more so 
as she knew Agnes was overawed by her, and 
did not easily forget her reproofs. 

" Nasty thing! " muttered Agnes, pouting, and 
taking up the doll to kiss it again. Suddenly, 
with a loud cry, she said : 

" Oh, Nounou, I've jammed her! What shall I 
do?" 

" Stop crying this minute ! " said nurse sharply. 
" You are enough to frighten any little doll. 
Go to Louise and have your face and hands 
washed, and when you come back I'll help you 



flBg £tttle SolL 



43 



to make her some clothes, and we will put her 
to bed in the little pink bed your sailor boy used 
to sleep in." 

" She must have cloaks, and hats, and a muff 
and furs," said Agnes, " for to-morrow she's go- 
ing to walk with me and Louise in the Tuiler- 
ies, and when we go to Chantilly in the spring 
she will learn to ride on my pony, Polichi- 
nelle." 

The whole evening was spent in making 
clothes for the little doll, and Agnes was rather 
inclined to whimper when nurse made her put 
away her things and get ready for bed. 

As she knelt before her little altar of the holy 
Child Jesus to say her evening prayers, nurse 
made her pray that she might become less self- 
ish and more thoughtful for others before the 
holy feast of Christmas, which was drawing 
near; and Agnes, having some guilty qualms of 
conscience, prayed far more earnestly than she 
was wont to do. 

IT. 

We must leave little Agnes in happy posses- 
sion of her new plaything, and follow home, 
that same winter's evening, a little girl of nearly 
the same age — that is, nine years — but differing 



44 



jfrance* 



in all other respects from the well-cared-for 
child of the Countess. 

Poor little Madeleine Leelerc : how pale she 
was, how thin, and what ragged clothes she wore 
that bitter cold day, with no jacket to shield 
her from the biting wind! She had watched 
the Countess and Agnes get out of the cab that 
afternoon, had peered through the tall iron gate 
and seen them go up the broad flight of stone 
steps into the well-lighted hall, with its thick 
carpets, green ferns, and white statues, and she 
had wondered to herself if that rich child had 
ever known what it was to be unhappy, or if 
she had ever shed a tear. She knew full well 
that the little girl so beautifully dressed had 
never wandered about Paris the whole afternoon, 
her feet covered with chilblains, her hands 
aching with cold. Madeleine ' s father was dying 
in the Hopital St. Louis of consumption; her 
mother had slipped in the street and broken her 
leg, and they would have starved if Monsieur 
le Cure of St. Marguerite had not been so kind 
to them that he visited them every day to see 
if there were anything to eat ; for the Assistance 
Publique, the only means of relief from the Gov- 
ernment in Paris, fails utterly to meet the crav- 
ing needs of the poorest and most desolate. 

Madeleine had been wandering about since 



m Xtttle Boll 



45 



the morning, standing on the steps of the Made- 
leine as the people went in and out of church, 
and had received from the charitable passers-by 
nearly a franc. Afterward she had hung about 
the shops in the Rue du Faubourg St. Honore, 
and at last wandered into the Avenue des 
Champs-Elysees, where others had had compas- 
sion on her, and she had nearly two francs when 
she saw the door shut on Agnes and her mother, 
and as it was growing dark she resolved to go 
home. 

She was very tired now. The wind was so 
strong and icy cold, and as it was an east wind 
met her in the face as she wended her way 
along the Rues de Rivoli and St. Antoine, till 
she came to the narrow dark Rue de Charonne, 
in which she lived. In one of the most tumble- 
down houses, at the sixth story, was a misera- 
ble garret, which she called her home. 

Her mother was a little better to-day; Mon- 
sieur le Cure had brought her some famous wine, 
which had been given to him for his own use ; 
the Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul had also been 
there with soup, and the visits had comforted and 
cheered her, especially as they had brought some 
warm clothes for poor little Louis and Jeanneton, 
the tiny brother and sister for whom Madeleine 
had been begging in the streets all day. 



46 



jFrance* 



How pleased they were with the coffee and 
bread she brought in — true children of the Sa- 
viour, who was born in a stable, and had " not 
where to lay His head." 

Then, when Madeleine had made the room 
tidy, and put them all as comfortable as she 
could for the night, she knelt down and said 
aloud the prayers in preparation for Christmas, 
which Monsieur le Cure had taught them. Not 
a word of discontent from the lips of any of 
them, not a murmur, but rather true and hearty 
thanks for the benefits of that day, and a very 
earnest prayer for their dear Father, Monsieur 
le Cure, and the good Sisters. When they 
prayed for " poor little father" in the hospital, 
only then their tears fell fast, and the mother 
hid her face that the children might not see the 
tears she shed, knowing that never again would 
that " poor little father " come home to his wife 
and children. 

III. 

For three weeks Agnes was entirely devoted 
to her little doll, taking her about with her 
wherever she went, and putting her to bed 
nearly every night in a pretty little bed with 
pink and white curtains. 



little ©OIL 



47 



A few days before Christmas, the Countess 
sent her out with the nursery-maid one after- 
noon instead of taking her out in the carriage, 
as she was going to buy her Christmas and New- 
Year's presents. 

About four o'clock, nurse, who was sewing 
in the day nursery, heard a loud roar, and run- 
ning down hastily to the entrance hall, she found 
Agnes almost in convulsions. 

" Nounou, m-m-m-y, my little, oh, oh, oh, 
oh, oh," roared Agnes. 

" She has lost her little doll," explained Lou- 
ise ; " never mind, Mademoiselle, some one will 
find it and bring it home ; I asked every one 
about, even the keepers." 

" Stop crying, darling," said nurse, taking the 
child in her arms and kissing her. " We will 
try and pray and ask about, and we shall suc- 
ceed in finding it again." 

Agnes cried and cried, and nothing could com- 
fort her for an hour, while Louise told nurse 
the whole story. 

" I took Miss Agnes to the Jardins des Tuil- 
eries to play, and after we had been there some 
time, she proposed playing hide-and-seek. Her 
little doll was to hide. She hid it. and I looked 
for it, and then the last time she could not find 
it herself, and we looked about everywhere. 



4s 



jfrance. 



And at last it began to grow dusk, and she sud- 
denly remembered the tree and statue where 
she had hidden it ; but when we came there, 
the doll was gone, though we found its little 
muff still there." 

She took out of her pocket the little muff that 
nurse had made for it out of a bit of sealskin. 

At tea-time the Countess came into the nursery 
to see her little girl, and seeing her darling's 
pale face and swollen eyes, asked what was the 
matter. 

"Miss Agnes has lost her little doll," nurse 
answered as the child began to sob afresh. " But 
we shall be sure to find it, shall we not? " 

" Oh, yes, darling," said her mother, taking her 
poor darling into her arms and trying to soothe 
her. " Mother will offer a reward of two hundred 
francs. She will do everything to find her pet's 
doll, or perhaps we can get another like it." 

"I won't have another like her; she was my 
own pet ; I loved her and she loved me ; and oh, 
she's out in the cold, and she thinks me so un- 
kind to leave her; oh, I must find her, I must; 
let me go out again; let me go, mamma." 

The child was almost distracted ; she sobbed 
and writhed in agony ; and it was not for some 
time that she could be soothed enough to go to 
bed, and late in the evening, worn out, fell asleep, 



d&8 little Boll 



49 



Some days passed, and no little doll. Every 
morning nurse or Louise took Agnes into the 
Jardins des Tuileries to look for the doll. Nu- 
merous placards were posted up offering the re- 
ward of two hundred francs to any one who 
would bring the little doll to the Hotel des 
Champs-Elysees. 

" We are sure to get her back," said her mother, 
" for to any one in the world besides yourself she 
is not worth a franc." 

At which naughty little Agnes, instead of be- 
ing grateful to her mother for. offering such a 
large reward, sulked for a whole day because 
her mother had said the little doll was not worth 
a franc. 

A week went by, and still no little doll. Ag- 
nes was growing quite pale and thin from fret- 
ting; she hardly spoke or ate, and every now 
and then burst out crying when she thought of 
the little doll. At last one day the Countess 
came into the nursery, where Agnes was playing 
with a large Xoah's ark, and said: 

" Nurse, the Monsieur is going down to Chan- 
tillyfor a week until Christmas Eve, and I think 
I shall take Miss Agnes to Nice for a week. 
She will have her little cousins to play with, and 
altogether I think the change would do her 
good." 



50 



jFrance, 



Agnes no sooner heard about going away than 
she threw down all the animals, breaking a 
great number; the large elephant lost his trunk, 
and several monkeys their tails, to say nothing 
of the little sheep and pigs and the poor little 
birds. 

" I won't go away without my little doll. I 
won't, I won't; I'll scream all the way in the 
carriage and in the train if you make me. Per- 
haps she's in the gardens all this while waiting 
for me. Oh, my own little doll, my little doll, 
my own dear little doll ! " 

She wailed so bitterly that her mother was 
quite alarmed, seeing that the grief was as fresh 
as on the first day of her loss. 

" Darling, don't cry so," she said tenderly. 
" The little doll will be brought back if she is 
found, just the same as if we were here, and we 
shall know at once. I will tell the butler to 
telegraph." 

" Nounou, darling, do you think I shall get 
her back?" she asked when her mother was gone 
dowm-stairs. 

"You are a naughty girl," returned nurse. 
" There isn't another little girl so spoiled in 
Paris as you are, with everything she could 
wish for, and yet you are never satisfied." 

" Nasty, cross thing, I hate you," retorted Ag- 



AS Xittle Boll 



51 



nes. " Poor little doll, perhaps she's dreadfully 
uncomfortable out in the cold all this while. I 
hate you, and so does my little doll for wishing 
me not to find her." 

Then she burst out crying, begged nurse's 
pardon, and finally knelt down by the altar of 
the Holy Child, and begged Him to make her 
more gentle and unselfish, and above all to find 
her little doll. 

" If you will, dear Jesus, I will be such a good 
girl," she sobbed. "I will give all my pocket- 
money to the poor." 

Two days passed, and no one had claimed the 
reward for the little doll ; the Countess was in 
despair, for her little girl had grown so thin, 
and looked so ill, with a white face, and two 
bright red spots on her cheeks, and seemed so 
listless that it was evident she would soon be 
very ill. One afternoon she resolved to try to 
persuade the little girl to go away quietly. She 
had been telling her stories of the saints and 
their trust in God, and tried to convince the 
child that he who trusts in the Heavenly Father 
with firm, unshaken confidence is always con- 
soled. It was half-past six. Agnes was lying 
on the hearth-rug in front of the fire when they 
heard a knock at the front door. 

" I must go and dress for dinner, darling," 



52 



JFrance, 



said the Countess. " Papa must have invited 
some one to dine with us." 

"I shall come with you,' ; said Agnes, follow- 
ing her mother to the door leading to her 
mother's private staircase. 

Agnes was very curious, however, and she 
peeped into the salon before running up-stairs, 
to see who had come. 

" Mother," said she, " what can it be? It is an 
Abbe and a little beggar-girl." 

A sudden thought flashing into her mind, she 
darted back into the salon, before her mother 
could stop her, and found herself face to face 
with a tall priest, with dark, kind eyes and 
snow-white hair and such a gentle expression. 
He was standing by the fire, holding the little 
ragged girl's hand, and reassuring her, for she 
seemed very shy. 

Agnes herself was seized with a sudden fit of 
shyness, and did not speak ; in fact, she was just 
going to run away again when her mother came 
into the room. 

" My servant has told me to what I owe the 
pleasure of Monsieur's le Cure's visit," she said 
with her gracious smile. " But before all things, 
pray remove your coat, for you must be wet 
through. Joseph, take Monsieur le Cure's coat, 
and ask Monsieur le Comte to come up." 



tihv little Boil 



53 



" This little friend of mine," said Monsieur le 
Cure, caressing the little ragged girl, who 
blushed and looked down on the ground, " found 
your little girl's doll." 

Here Agnes could restrain herself no longer, 
but rushed from behind her mother's chair, 
where she had stationed herself, and cried : 

" Have you got her? Oh, give her to me 
quick, my own dear little doll." 

" Agnes, you rude child, I am ashamed of 
you," said her mother very much displeased. 
"Pray forgive her, Monsieur le Cure; she has 
been fretting ever since the little doll was 
lost." 

" I quite understand," said Monsieur le Cure, 
drawing a little packet from his pocket, and 
giving it to the eager child. " See, Mademoiselle, 
your child is not much the worse for her stay in 
the Rue St. Marguerite." 

" Have you come all that way?" said Agnes. 
" I am so sorry. Mamma will send you home 
in the carriage after dinner, won't you, mamma?" 

P " Certainly," said her mother, " if Monsieur le 
Cure will give us the pleasure of his company. 
And now you must go up to your nursery, and 
take Monsieur le Cure's little friend with you, 
and ask Nounou to lend her some dry clothes, 
and be very polite, and ask her to have tea with 



54 



jfrance. 



you, and be very grateful to her for bringing 
you back your treasure.'' 

"It is just the same," said Agnes, gleefully. 
" See, mamma, she isn't hurt in the least." 

When the children were gone upstairs to Nou- 
nou, Monsieur le Cure told the Count and Count- 
ess about his little protegee, her sad life and 
many trials. He told them also what they had 
never realized before : that there were children 
— among the number, Madeleine's little brother 
and sister — who had never known what it was to 
have a plaything of any kind of their very own 
before. 

" How delighted they must have been to find 
that little doll," said the kind-hearted lady with 
tears in her eyes. " I wonder indeed that they 
gave it back, for most children would have kept 
it. Did they know of the reward? " 

" No, indeed," said Monsieur le Cure. "Just 
to show you what noble children they are : I 
went to see them on Monday. They showed 
me the little plaything with great glee ; and I 
was only too pleased for them ; but I said at the 
time, if I find the little child who owns that 
doll, will you give it to me? They answered 
with ready obedience that of course they would 
do what I told them, though I saw a look of dis- 
appointment in their eyes. Then on Wednes- 



flhy %itx\c Doll, 



55 



day I came to see a friend of mine in the Rue 
Marbeuf, and happened to see the arnches about 
the lost doll, which I at once recognized to be 
none other than the plaything of my little 
friends. I was delighted, as they are sadly in 
need of all sorts of things; in fact, they have 
been half-starved with cold and hunger this se- 
vere winter. 

"I think," he added, for the Countess could 
not speak, the tears were running down her 
cheeks at the thought of so much misery, " I 
had better take my little charge home. Perhaps 
her mother will be anxious." 

"Oh, no, no," besought the Countess. "Be- 
sides, the little girl must be enjoying herself 
with Agnes in the nursery, and it will take some 
little time to find her some warm, dry clothes." 

It was not till half-past eight that Monsieur le 
Cure took leave of his kind hosts. The Count 
ordered out the carriage and the Countess had 
a large hamper full of good things for the sick 
woman put on the box ; inside were warm blank- 
ets and soft sheets for the bed of the sick woman 
as well as for the little children. The Countess 
promised, moreover, to go and visit the poor 
woman, and to see what she could do for her 
and the little children. 

"It is like the fairy-tales," said Madeleine, 



56 



jfrance. 



shyly taking the hand of Monsieur le Cure, and 
kissing it. " Oh, Monsieur le Cure, how good 
you are to us." 

" I," said the Cure laughing. " Why it is the 
dear infant Jesus, whom we have asked to bless 
us, who has sent us all these good things for 
mother, and such kind friends." 

"The little lady was so kind to me," added 
the child. " She kissed me just as if I had been 
a lady too, and waited on me and said to-mor- 
row she would look through her toys and give 
me some for the little ones." 

Great was the joy in that poor home when 
Monsieur le Cure entered with the hamper and 
the blankets, and told the poor mother of the 
new friends the good God had sent them. 
They had never been so comfortable in their 
lives before, and before going to sleep they 
offered a prayer of fervent gratitude to Him 
from whom " cometh every good and every per- 
fect gift." 

When Monsieur le Cure and Madeleine were 
gone, the Countess came up into the nursery to 
ask Nounou how Agnes had behaved. 

" Like a little lady," said Nounou. And then 
they talked for a long time about the poor child, 
her sick parents, and her little brother and sis- 
ter. Agnes hugged her little doll, and prattled 



»B fctttte Boll 



away to it all the time, until her mother called 
the nursery-maid to undress her. 

The child had been very restless at night of 
late, since the loss of her little doll, and had got 
into the habit of waking up very often. She 
woke up in the night, and wondered if it were 
a dream that her little doll was come back. 
The house was very quiet. She could hear 
Louise in the next room breathing heavily in 
her sleep. The moon was shining in at the 
window, for it was a clear, frosty night, and Ag- 
nes would always have the curtains drawn away 
that she might see the stars wandering across 
the sky, not that she had ever caught them in 
the act of moving, much as she had tried. She 
looked at the moonbeams and wondered if the 
angels' wings were brighter than they, and as 
she moved a little to one side, she started up in 
bed with surprise. There, yes, it actually was 
her little doll kneeling before the altar of the 
infant Jesus, her own little doll whom she had 
left safely tucked up in the little pink 
and white bed. And the moonbeams fell on 
the sweet face of the holy Child Jesus above 
the altar, and Agnes saw that it was very 
sad, and that tears were running down His 
cheeks. 

Agnes was going to exclaim, when a tiny soft 



58 



ffrance. 



voice fell on her ear like the tinkling of a musi- 
cal silver bell. 

"Dear Jesus," it was the little doll praying, 
" Agnes is indeed very selfish, but she is 
thoughtless and not wicked. She has been so 
indulged, and has never known what it is to be 
poor, or she would be kinder to others. For- 
give her, dear Lord ; teach her to begin a new 
life ; teach her to think of the least of these Thy 
brethren, that she may serve Thee. Little Mad- 
eleine Leclerc is one of Thine own brave fol- 
lowers : poor and hungry and cold, she never 
complains. Her little brother and sister have 
no playthings at all — nay, they have scarcely 
clothes to cover them — but they love Thee and 
are happy. Teach Agnes to love them for Thy 
sake, O Jesus; teach her to deny herself and 
follow Thee." 

Then a cloud passed over the moon, all was 
dark and still, and when it was light again the 
daylight was streaming into the room, and Ag- 
nes knew she had been to sleep since the vision. 

Louise came into the room to dress her; and 
contrary to her usual behavior she made no ob- 
jection to her bath, and did not scream that 
Louise was pulling out her hair. She did not 
ask for everything for breakfast that she could 
not have, and was so subdued and thoughtful 



IfoV Xtttle Boll. 



59 



that Nounou and Louise said, " There is some- 
thing the matter with that child, I am sure." 

Which was indeed true, Agnes placed her 
little doll in a tiny chair on the breakfast-table, 
and kept looking and smiling at it. But she 
did not speak to nurse or Louise, and was unu- 
sually mild and submissive. 

As soon as she had finished breakfast, she 
went to her toy cupboard, and drew thence a 
large book of fairy tales with colored pictures, 
a pretty doll w T ith long hair and a great many 
different clothes, a Xoah's ark, and a box of 
dominoes — these were her very favorite toys, 
though not to be compared with her little doll. 

Then, as it was a pouring wet day, she looked 
disconsolately out of the window for a few min- 
utes, and at last settled down to play with her 
doll by the fireside. Nurse thought, as she was 
in one of her good tempers, she could be trusted 
alone for a little while, so she stepped down to 
have a chat with the housekeeper, and Louise 
was busy helping the housemaids, for a great 
many visitors were expected for Christmas and 
the New Year. 

No sooner was Agnes alone than she popped 
the toys taken from her cupboard into a basket, 
climbed on a chair and reached down her hat 
and jacket, and opening the nursery door very 



60 



jfrance* 



gently, and looking over the banisters, she crept 
down the wide staircase leading to a door open- 
ing on the street. Agnes opened the door very 
softly, and without stopping to close it behind 
her set off running down to the corner of the 
street, where there was a cab-stand. She beck- 
oned to the first cabman, as she had seen other 
people do in the streets, and gave him the ad- 
dress of Madeleine Leclerc. The man looked 
rather surprised, but she pulled out her little 
purse and showed it to him. 

"I will give you five francs," she said, "to 
drive me there and back as fast as you can." 

A French cabman will do anything for money, 
and he started without further demur. She felt 
a little shy when she reached the dirty street in 
which Madeleine lived, and when she found 
' herself going up a rickety flight of stairs, in 
many places broken away. She knocked gently 
at the door which the concierge had indicated 
to her, and in a minute it was opened by Made- 
leine herself. 

" Is your mother better? " asked Agnes. " My 
mother is coming to see her, but I couldn't wait, 
and I've brought you some toys. And I mustn't 

stay, for " Here she grew very red, for she 

caught sight of Monsieur le Cure, who was sit- 
ting on the one chair in the room. 



Xxttle Boll. 



01 



He came forward with his gracious smile, 
and said : 

" My dear child," taking the big basket out of 
her hand, "what are these? Does Madame la 
Comtesse know you came out all alone this wet 
day?" 

" Oh, no, indeed," she answered. " She would 
not have let me come if she had known. Please 
give the toys to the dear little boy and girl." 
She took them out of the basket and" handed 
them to Louis and Jeanneton, who were stand- 
ing by her looking open-mouthed at the wonder- 
ful toys, such as they had only seen through the 
plate glass of shop windows. 

" My dear," added Monsieur le Cure, " if your 
mamma does not know that you are here, you 
must go home at once. Moreover, the toys are 
not yours to give away. I must insist on your 
taking them back." 

" Oh, no," returned Agnes quickly. " Mamma 
is always saying how selfish I am, and wanting 
me to give my best toys to the poor children at 
the hospital of the Sisters of St. Vincent de 
Paul. Please leave them, Monsieur le Cure, at 
any rate till she comes, and she will tell you so 
too." 

" Very well, my child. But you must come 
down at once. I shall take you home, for you 



jFrance* 



are wet, and see, my child, how naughty to come 
out in such thin shoes, and on the sly." 

Agnes blushed, hastily kissed Madeleine and 
the little ones, and followed Monsieur le Cure 
down to her cab. He would not hear of her 
going home alone, in spite of her earnest 
pleadings. 

Something in his kind face and gentle voice 
made her open her heart to him, and before they 
reached the Avenue des Champs-Elysees Agnes 
had told him about the little doll praying 
before the altar of the infant Jesus the night 
before. 

" And I wanted to begin at once," she added. 
" I couldn't wait any longer. I must give up 
my very pet toys at once before I have time to 
change my mind." 

Monsieur le Cure told her that if the good God 
loves to see little children unselfish, He loves 
also to see them very obedient, and that it was 
very naughty to slip out, unknown to any one, 
into the streets. 

As the cab drew up to the front door, Agnes 
began to shiver violently, and yet she was very 
hot. She had caught cold. Every one in the 
house was distraught; all was in confusion. 
Nurse had discovered her absence, and the foot- 
men had been sent out in all directions. In the 



AB little Boll 



6b 



joy of finding her again so soon the Countess 
forgot to scold her, but nurse made up for the 
deficiency as she undressed Agnes and put her 
to bed. 

The next day she was very ill indeed; the 
doctor said that all the fretting and unhappiness 
had made her very delicate, and having caught 
cold she would have a much more serious illness. 
The days passed on, she grew worse and worse, 
she became quite unconscious, and the doctor 
was obliged to say there was very little hope 
of her recovery. Monsieur le Cure took his three 
ragged friends to pray at the shrine of Notre 
Dame des Victoires, and little Jeanneton said 
she was sure the dear infant Jesus would 
spare the little lady who had been so kind to 
them. 

One day she lay with her eyes fast closed for 
hours, quite unconscious, and the doctor with 
the tears running down his cheeks said : 

" God help us now, for she will wake to smile 
upon us again or she will pass away without an- 
other look on this world." 

The Count and Countess knelt in breathless 
agony by the bedside, praying Almighty God if 
it were His holy will to spare their darling. 

And even as they prayed on Christmas Eve 
just near midnight, the clouds rolled away, and 



64 



JFrance, 



as the moonbeams shone into the darkened room 
and played on the child's pale face, the little 
child opened her eyes and smiled faintly. 

" Mother darling, the angels are kissing me — 
but why do you cry? " for trie father and mother 
sobbed aloud. 

" You have been asleep so long, darling," an- 
swered her father. " We were tired of waiting 
for you to wake up." 

" And my little doll ? " asked Agnes, " and Mon- 
sieur le Cure and Madeleine? But oh, I am so 
tired." 

From that time she improved every day. It 
was a long time before she could go out walk- 
ing, but Monsieur le Cure came to see her very 
often and Madeleine and Louis and Jeanneton, 
all in beautiful warm clothes given them by the 
Countess. And Agnes was so gentle and affec- 
tionate and so afraid of giving trouble even to 
nurse and Louise that it really seemed, said the 
Countess, as if the angels had kissed her and 
whispered words of love and devotion in her 
ear. 

And now she is quite a big girl, tall and very 
pretty, and as good as she is beautiful. And 
when she made her First Communion she wanted 
to give away everything of which she was most 
fond, and Monsieur l'Abbe Warambon, who still 



m little 2>oIL 



65 



teaches her her catechism, declares to her father 
and mother that every day leaves fresh prints 
on that beautiful soul of humility, obedience, 
and generous, devoted love of Jesus and the 
least of His brethren. 

5 




Spain* 



The betrothal of Isabella. 

He healeth the broken of heart.— Ps. cxlvi.3. 

I. 

EAR Guadavera, where the river 
Isellina winds through wood-bound 
vales and verdant meadows, nest- 
. ling among the trees at the foot of a 
crag overhanging the banks of the river, is an old 
gray castle, built by the ancestors of the Graziano 
di Luzman family, in the beginning of the 
eleventh century. 

A steep path, so narrow that only one person 
can ascend it at a time, mounts up to the summit 
of the crag, and there among the orange and 
acacia trees is a little chapel, so old that it is 
moss-grown and half in ruins, dedicated to the 
infant Jesus in gratitude for a miracle which 
took place, say the archives of the Graziano di 
Luzmans, in the fourteenth century. 

66 




Cbe ^Setrotbal of Isabella* 67 



It happened in this wise. The Count Luis 
Graziano di Luzman had an only daughter and 
three sons. Isabella, the girl, was the most 
beautiful being that had ever been born in Spain. 
Her mother was an Englishwoman, and from 
her Isabella inherited eyes that vied the forget- 
me-nots in color, a skin white as the lily, cheeks 
that made the roses look pale, and golden hair 
fine as spun glass, and as glowing as the rays of 
the summer sun at noonday. 

Now Isabella was as good as she was beauti- 
ful, and as it was not the custom of ladies in 
those days to study as they do now, she spent 
all her time in working for the poor and pray- 
ing in the chapel. Her mother was dead, and 
her father's sister, who directed the servants of 
the castle and took care of Isabella, w 7 as not 
very kind to her ; indeed, she thought nothing of 
beating the girl with her distaff when in a bad 
humor, and Isabella was of too sweet and sub- 
missive a nature to complain to her father, who 
was very fond of his lovely child, though very 
strict, as most parents w r ere in those days. 

The castle was very gay ; the King of Spain 
himself had. been the Count's visitor, and all the 
year round guests were coming and going, for 
the Count was exceedingly hospitable, and loved 
company and good cheer, and there was no lack 



6S 



Spain. 



of hunting, fishing, and other sports for the gen- 
tlemen who came to accept the Count's invita- 
tions. 

Among the frequent visitors to the castle was 
a noble Englishman, the Lord Lynton, of Lyn- 
court, who lived in Spain on account of his only 
son's health, for the climate of England was no 
better then than it is now ; and the young Hugh 
Lynton was always ill when in his native coun- 
try. His mother was dead also ; and his father 
willingly sacrificed his life for the good of the 
son, and remained away from his friends, his 
home and native country for the sake of his deli- 
cate child. Little Hugh was the same age as 
Isabella, and not being able to take part in the 
manly sports of the other young men, on ac- 
count of a delicacy of the spine which made him 
appear humpbacked, so much he stooped, re- 
mained at home with the ladies, which was not 
at all disagreeable to him, as he was near Isa- 
bella, whom he had loved dearly from his earli- 
est childhood, not so much on account of her 
great beauty, as of her gentleness and kindness 
to him, which she showed in a hundred thought- 
ful attentions so delicately and quietly that 
they almost passed unnoticed. 

As they grew up Hugh became stronger, but 
never lost his love of study and retirement, and 



Sbe ffiettotbal of Isabella. 69 



always when at the castle he stayed by Isabella's 
side, reading tc\ her while she worked, walking 
about the garden with her while she attended 
to her flowers, or telling her of all the wonderful 
things he had seen in his travels. 

When Isabella was fifteen years old her father 
decided to take her to Court, and in spite of 
her tears and entreaties he ordered her to be 
ready to start on her sixteenth birthday. Her 
aunt scolded her severely for her ingratitude. 
"What," said she, u was Isabella too grand a 
lady to take notice of all the beautiful jewels 
and dresses her father had given her to appear at 
Court? What more did she want, indeed? She 
must be a queen herself, must she? " But Isa- 
bella cried bitterly over the lovely dresses, and 
begged to be left at the castle and not taken out 
into a world for which she felt herself ill-in- 
clined and all unfit. 

No one knew her secret; she herself hardly 
guessed it — it was that Hugh had been staying 
at the castle with his father for some months, 
and she had learned to love him, and now she 
must leave him for a whole year, and who could 
tell what would happen in a year? 

One afternoon she was sitting in her little 
bower in the garden, a sweet little nook all 
overgrown with roses and honeysuckle by the 



TO 



Spain* 



side of a streamlet which ran through the gar- 
den, when she heard footsteps on the gravel 
path, and Hugh appeared, his face very pale 
and wan, his eyes red with crying. 

" What is it ails thee, my Hugh? " asked the 
young girl gently and anxiously. 

" Oh, Isabella, my own, my dear one," he cried, 
" thou art going to start next week for Madrid. 
Oh, Isabella, what shall I do without thee? But 
thou wilt soon forget me there in the gay world 
where each gentleman is stronger, more valor- 
ous, and more bravely attired than his fellow. 
Oh, my Isabella, thou wilt come back betrothed, 
perhaps even married, and wilt never have a 
glance to bestow upon poor, sickly Hugh." 

He fairly broke 'down, and laying his head on 
the grass, sobbed as if his heart would break. 
The child, for she was no more in innocence 
and simplicity, sat down beside him, and taking 
his hand covered it with kisses and tears. 

" Hugh, my Hugh, say not such cruel things. 
Sooner would the lily forget to open her petals 
to the sun, sooner would the river cease to flow 
onward to the sea, sooner would the angels 
forget to light the stars in heaven, than Isabella 
forget her Hugh." 

" Is it true, indeed? " exclaimed Hugh, starting 
up, and clasping the young girl to his breast. 



Zbc ^Setrotbal of Isabella. ~i 



" Is it truth that thou speakest, mine own? Oh, 
promise me that come what may, thou wilt be 
ever true to me, that thou wilt never plight thy 
troth to another than poor Hugh Lynton." 

" I promise," whispered the girl tenderly. " Oh, 
Hugh, thou wilt sooner forget me ; thou so clever 
and wise and good, how canst thou love a poor, 
simple, ignorant girl like me?" 

" My darling, thou art good as an angel, and 
altogether sweet and beautiful, mine own Isa- 
bella. We will never be faithless to each other, 
will we?" 

They spent a happy afternoon together, talk- 
ing over the future, each trying to console the 
other and persuade themselves that a year was 
not so very long after all. 

" I will write thee a letter when I have occa- 
sion," said Hugh, " or perhaps I shall persuade 
my father to come to Madrid when the winter is 
over and we return from the warm coast of 
Italy." 

" I will pray for thee every day," said the girl 
gently and reverently. " I will burn tapers at 
the shrine of Our Lady, and doubtless God will 
bless us and unite us again." 

They spent a happy month together before 
the departure for the Court, but at last the wo- 
ful day came, and they had to part. Hugh was 



72 



Spain. 



out in the garden in Isabella's little bower, where 
they had promised to meet for a last farewell, 
that their grief might be unwitnessed by prying 
and unsympathetic eyes. Just as Isabel was 
running downstairs, her aunt came out of her 
drawing-room, and said sharply : 

" Where art thou going, Isabella? Come here ; 
there is no time to be running about now. The 
carriage will be at the door in five minutes." 

She came after the girl, seized her roughly by 
the shoulders, and pushed her into the drawing- 
room. 

" I know what thou art after," she hissed in the 
girl's ear. " That young Hugh Lynton, the 
beardless boy — I tell thee that thou shalt never 
see him again, hypocrite that thou art. Often 
and often have I watched thee, and when thou 
pretendedst to go and pray at the chapel thou 
hast been with him sauntering about in the gar- 
den, instead of sitting with thy aunt and endeav- 
oring to cheer her solitude." 

" I never pretended to be in chapel when I 
was with him," sobbed Isabella. " And I never 
thought that thou wouldst be pleased for me to 
sit with thee, or I should have stayed by thy side 
with pleasure." 

" Ah," retorted the aunt, "don't think to de- 
lude me. Anyhow, I tell thee thou art parted 



Cbe $etrotbaI of IFsabella. 73 



from Hugh Lynton forever — yea, forever." She 
locked the door and put the key in her pocket, 
in spite of Isabella's tears and entreaties. She 
was only released in time to run downstairs and 
join her father as the carriage was waiting be- 
fore the front door of the castle. With an ach- 
ing heart poor Isabella drove away, without 
having had one look, one word from Hugh, 
without being able to send him a message to 
explain her not being at the bower to meet him. 

And he, poor Hugh, waited and waited for 
hours, and when at last he summoned courage 
to go to the castle and ask if they were gone, 
and heard the dreadful news, his heart sank 
within him, and some presentiment of the 
trouble before them crossed his mind and drove 
an arrow through his heart. 

II. 

Isabella was much admired at Court. Her 
beauty was of an uncommon kind in Spain, 
where dark eyes and hair prevail. She was 
asked in marriage over and over again, but for 
some reason or other her father refused all the 
offers, until at last one day her aunt entered the 
girl's boudoir and said: 

" Said I not well that thou shouldst never see 



74 



Spain, 



Hugh Lynton again? Thy father has accepted * 
a brilliant offer of marriage for thee, and soon 
thou wilt be betrothed." 

Isabella fell on her knees at her aunt's feet. 

" Oh, aunt," she cried imploringly, "save me 
from this cruel fate of being separated from 
Hugh. Save me ; beg my father not to force 
me into an alliance which would make me un- 
happy for all my life." 

Her aunt only mocked the girl ; the truth was, 
she was jealous of her youth and beauty, and 
only too glad to give vent to her spite by sneer- 
ing at Isabella in her trouble. 

A few days afterward the Count Graziano di 
Luzman called Isabella to him and told her that 
the young Marquis Lusignan, a French noble- 
man then at the Court of Spain with the French 
ambassador, had asked for her hand in mar- 
riage, and that he had given him his promise 
that she should be his bride. 

" He is young, handsome, and rich," said her 
father. " What more can a girl want? And, 
hey, why these tears?" 

Isabella threw her arms around her father's 
neck, and besought him to break off the promise 
he had made to the Marquis de Lusignan and 
to allow her to marry Hugh Lynton. 

" What, a humpback? " said her father an- 



Zbc SSetrotbal of Isabella, 



75 



grily. " Dost think that I am going to give the 
only daughter of the house of Graziano di Luz- 
man to a humpback? Forsooth, I would almost 
as soon see thee lying dead than give thee up 
to such a life." 

" Run away, girl," he said at last, patting her 
cheek; "runaway. Thine is but a girl's light 
fancy. Soon thou wilt forget Hugh Lynton, 
and in after-years wilt thank me with all thine 
heart for having been firm at this moment." 

In vain Isabella protested. Her father was 
resolute; he had never heard of such a thing 
as a girl wishing to choose her husband for her- 
self, especially when she had no more sense 
than to choose a young man who could not but 
be a disgrace to her all her life. 

The weeks rolled by. Isabella grew thinner 
and paler every day. The Marquis was pre- 
sented to her by her father, and she took a dis- 
like to him at once, with his scented locks and 
beard, his finely-pointed mustache and affected 
airs. Every day she spent more and more time 
in prayer, half hoping that God would send some 
way of escape, perhaps at the last moment, to 
save her for Hugh. She had had no letter from 
Hugh, though he had promised to write, and he 
had never come to Madrid, and she thought 
sometimes, in an agony of despair, that perhaps 



76 



Spain, 



Hugh was dead. Her aunt told her mockingly 
that Hugh was faithless, as all men are, and 
that he had most likely found some pretty Italian 
girl with whom he was already wedded. In- 
deed, she affirmed having heard the news from 
a lady who had been at Court. 

The marriage was fixed for Christmas Day, 
and the family were to travel back to the castle, 
so as to celebrate the festival in the chapel 
which had been the scene of all the family cere- 
monies for many generations back. 

Poor Isabella had lost all her light-hearted- 
ness now. She was never seen to smile or laugh. 
Often and often she spent the whole night in 
prayer and weeping. For the days flew by, 
and no tidings of Hugh and no sign of relenting 
on the part of her father soothed her breaking 
heart. That journey home that she had looked 
forward to so long, oh, how sad and harrowing 
to her feelings ! Still the time passed by. It 
wanted only two days to Christmas, and still no 
ray of hope lightened her path. At last Christ- 
mas Eve arrived, and the family assembled at 
midnight to hear Mass. The next day was fixed 
for the wedding, and Isabella was so ill and 
trembling that she could hardly approach the 
altar rails to receive holy Communion at the 
midnight Mass. 



Zbc $etrotbal of ffsabella. 77 



Christmas Day dawned, and still no help 
came. And Isabella, half-dazed with grief, was 
dressed by her maids and led into the chapel 
for the wedding ceremony. The young Mar- 
quis knelt beside her at the altar rails. The 
chapel was thronged with guests and retainers, 
and the priest came in and began the service ; 
then Isabella broke forth into bitter tears, and 
with a look of agony to the statue of the holy 
Virgin with her Child above the altar, she 
prayed : 

" O infant Saviour, on Thine own birthday 
wilt Thou not set me free?" 

And lo, before all the multitude, the Holy 
Child stretched forth His hand, and such a bright 
light streamed therefrom that the Marquis de 
Lusignan became blind. And a noise of horses 
was heard in the court-yard, and the door opened, 
and there entered the Lord Lynton, of Lyncourt, 
and his son Hugh, no longer small and hump- 
backed, but tall, lithe, and stalwart as the Count's 
own sons. And Isabella left the altar, and went 
to meet him, and he clasped her in his arms, 
and vowed never to let her go until he had the 
promise of the Count that she should be his 
bride. The Marquis de Lusignan, hearing what 
had befallen, and how Isabella had given her 
faith to Hugh Lynton, as a noble and proud 



78 



Spain* 



chevalier, could no longer claim her as his 
bride, and so that happy Christmas morning 
Hugh and Isabella were wed. And as they came 
into the hall of the castle, and eager guests 
pressed round them to congratulate them and 
wish them every happiness, when Isabella gave 
her hand gently and compassionately to the 
Marquis de Lusignan to thank him for his gen- 
erosity, his eyes opened, and he saw clearly and 
was no longer blind. 

And the little chapel was built on the summit 
of the crag, and seven silver bells were placed 
in the belfry, that far and near the children might 
love and revere the vSaviour, and put their trust 
in Him, remembering, when they heard the sil- 
very chime, the betrothal of Hugh Lynton and 
Isabella. Every Christmas to this day the little 
children come in procession, and Mass is sung 
and alms are given to the poor in gratitude and 
thanksgiving to Him who never faileth to " heal 
the broken of heart." 



IL SANTO BAHBINO DELL' ARA CCELI. 

Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them 
not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven. — Mark x. 14. 



N the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore 
in Rome is a figure of our blessed 
Redeemer as a little helpless child, 
which is held in great veneration by 
all devout Christians. For numerous favors have 
been obtained through invoking our blessed 
Lord in this holy spot, especially among the 
sick and infirm, and among the dear children of 
Him who had not where to lay His head — the 
poor. 

Every year at Christmas-tide II Santo Bam- 
bino dell' Ara Cceli is honored by processions, 
devotions, and votive offerings; and inasmuch 
as He called the little children unto Him and 
blessed them in honor of His childhood, little 
children sing to Him and speak His praises at 
this festive season before the Santo Bambino, 
79 




80 



ITtals, 



For miles around the Eternal City, the people 
in the villages love and honor this devotion, and 
at Christmas-tide flock to Rome to obtain grace 
and blessing from their infant Redeemer. 

In a little village several miles from Rome, 
called Sant' Antonio dell' Alliermonte, lived a 
little boy with his grandmother. He was a good 
little boy, gentle and pious, and most unselfish 
— poor little Todo. Many and many a time he 
gave up his play-time to run messages for his 
grandmother, to go out into the woods and pick 
up sticks for the fire, or to fetch water, or to 
run messages for the richer neighbors to gain a 
few soldi for his Nonna. He never went to 
school without having heard Mass and paid a 
visit to the chapel of the Blessed Virgin, and 
his sweetness and modesty of demeanor won the 
love of all hearts for il piccolo Todo. 

One winter, however, when he was nine years 
old, Todo fell very ill, and his grandmother was 
obliged to put him to bed and call in the doctor. 
The child was shivering, and yet burning hot. 
He could hardly breathe, and a racking cough 
gave him no rest. The doctor gave him some 
medicine and the grandmother did all she could 
to keep him quiet and help him to get well ; but 
on Christmas Eve, Todo lying still as a mouse, 
the grandmother and the doctor thought he was 



1TI Santo »amMno Oeir Bra Ccxrll. 81 



asleep, and Todo heard the doctor tell the poor 
old woman that he would not be able to save 
her darling; that he could not last many days 
longer. The old woman cried and begged the 
holy Child Jesus to spare her little grandson, 
but as the hours went b}^ there was no change 
for the better, and she could not believe there 
was the least hope of Todo's recovery. 

Now Todo lay in bed thinking, and he was 
very sad. He loved his grandmother very 
dearly. He had meant to work very hard for 
her when he grew up, and had decided that when 
he grew rich she should have a pretty house* 
nice clothes, and rest all the time and amuse 
herself while he worked for her. 

" Nonna," he called gently to her as she came 
near the bedside, " why are you crying? Is it 
true I am so ill? " 

" Ah, Gesu. ! Maria ! " she cried, the tears run- 
ning down her cheeks. " The doctor says you 
are indeed ill, most ill, my Todo." 

" Nonna," he said, after a long fit of coughing, 
" will not the good Gesu hear our prayers, and 
let me get well? Did you not. tell me about the 
Santo Bambino dell' Ara Coeli? Tell me it 
again, Nonna mia." 

"Ah, II Santo Bambino," cried the grand- 
mother. " Ah, truly, if we could go to Rome. 



82 



1Ttal£, 



And now since the wicked woman to whom it 
was carried when she was ill stole it, II Santo 
Bambino is no more carried to the sick at their 
own homes." 

" Perhaps if we prayed He would come to us," 
said little Todo, his eyes full of tears. " Dear 
Nonna, He loves us, so we will pray with all our 
hearts, and who knows?" 

The old woman cried bitterly. Little Todo 
was her all. She had had one daughter only, 
who, dying, had left her the little dark-eyed baby 
to comfort her, and the old woman loved the 
sweet little grandson better than aught else in 
the world. Now she was going to lose him ; 
and the thought of her lonely life pierced her 
heart like a sharp sword. Her little Todo, with 
his winning ways, his loving thoughtfulness, 
was he going to leave her? Must she see him 
carried out to the cemetery and laid in the 
ground, and then return to the empty cottage, 
and drag out the remainder of her life in soli- 
tude? But it was Christmas Eve, and she must 
now go to confession to prepare for the great 
feast-day, and drying her eyes she put little 
Todo comfortable, and promising to hurry back 
from church, she went out into the cold night 
air. 

As soon as she was gone, Todo sat up in bed, 



1TI Santo bambino Dell' Bra Cecil 83 



breathed a prayer from the depth of his heart, 
and at last slipped out of bed. Then with a 
great deal of coughing and gasping for breath, 
he dressed himself, put his little bed tidy, mak- 
ing a heap in the middle to pretend that he was 
lying in bed covered with his clothes, and wrap- 
ping a sheepskin cloak around him, he opened 
the door of the little cottage and looked out. 

It had been snowing, and the ground was 
white and dazzling in the bright moonlight; 
many golden stars were twinkling in the deep 
blue sky. They smiled upon him as the angels 
of God, poor Todo thought. The cold night air 
brought on a terrible fit of coughing which 
nearly cost him his life, and for a moment he 
stood deliberating on the doorstep, thinking he 
could not carry out his heroic plan. 

But down in the village he saw the lights of 
the church shining through the colored windows, 
and he remembered the picture on the window 
over the altar of Jesus blessing little children. 
The thought of his grandmother armed him with 
supernatural courage, and he stepped out into 
the cold night to trudge to Rome to visit the 
Bambino dell' Ara Coeli. 

The snow was not very deep ; it was crisp and 
hard, but very slippery; in some places it was 
smooth as glass, for it was a very hard frost. 



84 



1Ttal£, 



Todo knew the way perfectly well, for in the 
summer he came very often to sell flowers or 
fruit from his grandmother's garden in the city, 
and his gentle manners and pretty face with its 
large wistful eyes brought him many customers. 

But it was very different trudging along the 
hard, slippery snow, the north wind blowing 
against him and making him cough at almost 
every step, to running along in the bright sum- 
mer mornings, now and then riding in the cart 
of one of the market gardeners, now walking in 
company with other boys when the air was cool 
and fragrant, and the sun was just beginning to 
dry the dew on the grass by the wayside. 

" O Gesu," cried little Todo, "Thou wast a 
poor child also. Dear Gesu, bring me safe 
home to the Nonna, my own Gesu, I beg of 
Thee." 

Todo had to sit down many times by the way- 
side, until a fit of coughing had left him. But 
after two or three hours' walking he found that 
his strength was beginning to fail him, and when 
at last he came in sight of the great city, and 
the twinkling lights seemed to mock at him for 
his weakness, he sank down on the ground and 
in an agony of grief and pain sobbed : 

" Ah, Gesu ! must I die and leave the Nonna 
all alone? Ah, Gesu! ah, Maria! by the love 



HI Santo bambino 6elP Bra Cecil. 85 



with which you loved each other, help poor 
Todo." 

He crawled on his hands and knees for a little 
while, and at last fell forward on his face, ut- 
terly powerless to go on. His breath seemed to 
fail him, his eyes closed, a chill faintness came 
over him. He had a dim sense of feeling that 
this was death. 

" Thy will be done," he tried to say. " Lord 
Gesu, receive my spirit." Gentle arms raised 
him tenderly, a sweet fragrance revived the 
fainting boy. He was able to open his eyes and 
look at his deliverer. 

" Ah, dear Gesu," he sighed, " Thou hast heard 
my prayer. Dear angel, I thank thee with all 
my heart." 

For he was in the arms of a beautiful angel 
with robes of dazzling whiteness, on whose coun- 
tenance played a smile of celestial sweetness 
and compassion which comforted the sick boy. 

Swiftly and noiselessly the angel passed on 
through the streets of the great city. The bells 
were ringing for midnight Mass, lights shone 
through the windows of every church, the faith- 
ful were hurrying to celebrate with joy and 
thanksgiving the birth of the Saviour of the 
world. The angel passed on with his burden 
to the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore, and, en- 



86 



1Ttal£. 



tering, he laid the sick child there in the place 
of heavenly benediction, right before the Divine 
Child. 

With the deepest gratitude little Todo thanked 
the dear Lord, who had heard his prayer, and 
he begged to be made quite well for his grand- 
mother's sake. 

Oh, marvel of marvels! A new strength was 
infused into the weak, aching little body and 
feeble limbs. Todo stood up — yes, he was quite 
strong ; he could no longer hear the cracklings 
in his chest when he breathed, his poor, tired 
head ceased to ache, the fever no longer burned 
in his veins. 

Then as he knelt and poured forth his ardent 
prayer of thanksgiving to our compassionate 
Lord, the angel took his hand, led him to a 
priest, to whom the little boy told the wonder- 
ful deliverance, while the holy angel stood by 
as a witness of the truth of his tale. And the 
priest bade him draw near the holy table, at 
the solemn midnight Mass, and as he knelt be- 
fore the high altar and the priest approached 
with the most holy Communion, it seemed to 
the little boy as if he saw his Lord surrounded 
by throngs of holy angels, and his heart almost 
broke with gratitude and love. 

And when he had received his Lord into his 



1TI Santo bambino Dell' Bra Cecil 87 



soul, he was wrapped with divine love, and he 
knelt for hours heart to heart with Jesus in an 
ecstasy of love and joy. 

But as the day began to break, and the voice 
of the joyous bells rose up to heaven, calling on 
all the city to celebrate the birth of Jesus, 
Todo bethought him of his grandmother, and 
he left the church and wended his way home- 
ward. He was so strong, his heart so light and 
buoyant, that he reached home as his grand- 
mother came out of the six o'clock Mass. She 
had not missed him ; seeing the clothes in a heap 
in the centre of the little bed, she had fancied 
that he was asleep, and the doctor had told her 
that a long, refreshing sleep was most needful 
for the sick boy. When she saw him come danc- 
ing along the village street, she cried out, and 
almost fell to the ground. 

" Ah, Todo," she cried, " dost thou want to 
kill thyself? and how canst thou dance, thou 
who wast dying yester-even? " 

" Nonna mia," he cried, his voice singing for 
very joy, " I have been to the Santo Bambino, and 
see I am cured — I am cured, Nonna carissima." 

The neighbors flocked around, and Todo told 
them of the holy angel who had borne him in 
his arms to the city and laid him at the feet of 
the Santo Bambino in Santa Maria Maggiore. 



"Ah, Gesu!" sobbed the grandmother — she 
was weeping for joy— "it is the little children 
who trust in Thee that Thou dost love so dearly." 

Amid cries and tears and exclamations Todo 
was borne off to the church to tell the Fra An- 
tonio, the kind Dominican monk, who taught 
the little boys of the village to read and write. 

" And," said Todo, with deep earnestness, 
clasping his little wooden crucifix in his hand, 
" I have made my First Communion, and I prom- 
ised — yes, I promised our dear Lord — that when 
I grow up I shall be a priest and teach other 
little boys to love Him and trust in Him, the 
dear Gesu." 

Todo kept his promise. From that Christmas 
Day he spent all the time he was not working 
for his grandmother in study or prayer. With 
a noble generosity, he gave up everything that 
pleased him to serve God and his neighbor. He 
was duly ordained priest, and obtained leave 
from his superiors to begin a work that had lain 
at his heart since his First Communion day. He 
took a house in the city and established a retreat 
for the poorest, most ignorant bo} r s of the city. 
There they spent three months preparing for 
their First Communion, learning at the same 
time some useful trade. When he was obliged 
to send them away to make room for more little 



1ft Santo bambino bclV Bra Cecil 89 



waifs, he sought among the pious tradespeople 
to apprentice them or place them. He never 
lost sight of any boy who had once been under 
his care ; he was the father and the friend to 
thousands of little boys who had never known 
a word of kindness before. In spite of the cares 
and hard work with which he was overburdened, 
he lived to a good old age and was revered almost 
as a saint by all who knew him. Many and many 
a holy priest owed his vocation to the influence 
of the Padre del Poveri, * as he was called. Many 
and many of the most neglected, placed by the 
Padre in an honest calling, rose to be prosper- 
ous and respectable. 

And at last, weighed down by the cares of so 
many souls and bodies, the Padre del Poveri fell 
ill himself. Still he worked to the very last. 
On Christmas Eve all his boys met in the little 
chapel attached to his house. All those who 
were able came from their homes or situations, 
and the Padre prepared them to receive the holy 
Communion on the great feast day. The last 
Christmas Eve he was on earth he was very 
weak, but he gathered his boys together and 
spoke to them with burning words of the love 
of Jesus. At last he fell back in the pulpit 
quite exhausted, and the young priest who as- 

* Father of the poor. * 



90 



1ftat£* 



sisted him begged him to take a little rest and 
not to tire himself by singing Mass at midnight. 

" But," said the Padre, " I must give my chil- 
dren Communion for the last time." 

The young priest begged him with tears in 
his eyes to take his advice for the sake of those 
who could ill spare their Padre. 

"It is finished," said the Father of the poor, 
smiling. " I am going home to-night." 

He came down to the little chapel at mid- 
night, sang the Mass, gave Communion to his 
dearly loved children, and then knelt in the 
choir to make his fervent thanksgiving. The 
hours went by; the priests, who knew he spent 
all the night in prayer very frequently, took no 
heed until six o'clock, when the Father was used 
to say morning prayers with his boys. But 
when they went to call him, they found it was 
even as he had said. His dearly loved Lord had 
called His faithful servant to receive his ever- 
lasting reward. 



Greece* 



The desired haven. 



STORY TOLD BY THE GREEK CATHOLIC MOTHERS 
TO THEIR CHILDREN. 



Bring us to the haven where we would be. 

St. Augustine. 

I. 

THE MESSENGER OF THE GREAT KING. 

IV E little boys in white robes were 
playing in a garden by the seashore. 
It was a lovely summer's day, and 
the light glinted on the deep blue 
sea; the lilies and roses in the garden spread 
their bosoms to the golden light; the gentle 
breeze wafted the fragrance of the myrtles all 
around, and the little birds sang joyfully in the 
hawthorn bushes. 

The boys ran about and picked the scarlet 
geraniums and the delicate begonias to make 
garlands ; they chased each other about the shady 
91 




92 



(Sreece, 



paths and verdant lawns of the garden. But 
after a while they grew tired of playing, and, 
sitting down beneath a tall acacia tree, they 
asked each other wonderingly what they could 
do to amuse themselves next. 

One suggested one game, one another, and 
one some quite new pastime ; but this was too 
childish, and that too hot and tiring ; and so in- 
tent were they that they did not notice the ap- 
proach of a stranger. He, too, was dressed in 
white, with a long girdle round his waist. His 
face shone as if he had been on the holy 
mount with God ; his hands were clasped on his 
breast as he passed ; the air was filled with a 
celestial fragrance ; when he spoke, his words 
fell like sweetest music on the ear. 

" My children," he said, coming forward into 
the very midst of the five boys, " I have brought 
you a message from the King of the land that 
is afar off beyond the ocean. Come with me to 
the seashore, and I will explain it to you." 

The boys rose and followed him in silent awe. 
He led them through the gates of the garden on 
to the golden sands. Then a cry of wonder 
arose, for there before them, dancing on the 
merry waves of the deep blue sea, were five 
little boats, each of pure gold, in the shape of a 
heart. The sails were as white as snow; the 



93 



mast was surmounted by a little cross. To each 
boat was fastened a crystal lamp, from which 
the light shone like the stars on a frosty night. 

Then the messenger of the King told them 
that these boats were theirs, given them by the 
King himself. 

" Look," he said, pointing to an island that they 
could just see far away, where the sea and the 
sky seemed to meet, " that is the Land of Fame ; 
if you seek it, you w T ill have to pass through 
many dangers. You may never reach it ; your 
little boat may suffer many shocks that will spoil 
its beauty and dim its brightness. There, too, 
are the Islands of Riches, of Folly, of Transient 
Delight, of Luxury, and many others. Those 
are the Islands of False Happiness, and many 
have been shipwrecked in trying to reach them. 
But far away — so far that you cannot see it — 
is the country of the Great King whose mes- 
senger I am. If you make for that country, 
and persevere in your course, He will send His 
messengers to help you in times of need. Nay, 
more, He will come Himself and guide you." 

" May we not even visit the islands on our 
way?" asked one of the boys. 

" It is better not, "returned the stranger. " You 
might become slaves ; you will sully the white- 
ness of your robes, and tarnish the gold of your 



94 



Greece* 



little boats. Pass on, press on, ever, my chil- 
dren, to the country of the Great King, where 
all is joy and beauty and love for evermore — 
where He Himself will welcome you, and crown 
your bravery with a crown of brightest gold, 
and, if you have fought with the pirates on the 
sea, will place in your hands the palm of vic- 
tory." 

" Are there pirates on the sea? " asked one 
boy, timidly. 

" Yes ; but the King will not suffer you to be 
vanquished by them if you fight with valor and 
implore His aid. Nay, be not so cast down," he 
added encouragingly, for the timid child grew 
pale and shuddered. " You will readily know 
them, for their vessels are gaudy, often dirty ; 
their sails are not snow-white ; no cross shines 
from the masthead; they themselves are ill- 
favored and repulsive-looking." 

" Will there be storms at sea?" again asked 
the little boy. 

" Oh, yes ; but the King will not let you come 
to grief if you trust in Him and cry to Him in 
times of danger. You must also see that your 
little boats are seaworthy. Now, I must give 
you charts and books. Study them carefully; 
you will find directions for guiding your boats. 
In conclusion, the King wishes you to go first 



Zbc £>estrefc Ibavem 



95 



into the city on the other side of the garden 
and find some poor sick or lonely child. Him 
you must carry in your boat over the sea, for 
the King loves you to be unselfish, and wishes 
you to tend and care for those whom He has 
seen good to leave in sorrow and suffering in 
the city. And now, farewell, my children ; 
think often of the King, whom you will see in 
His beauty in the land that is afar off. The 
way will not seem so long, and you will be im- 
pelled on your course by the desire to see Him. 
All troubles will seem light. Farewell." 

A bright cloud surrounded the stranger, and, 
gradually vanishing away, the children could 
not tell how or whither he had gone. 

They loosened the cords that secured the 
little boats and drew them ashore. 

"They are small," said the eldest boy, Ge- 
nestal. " They will not hold another child." 

" Oh," said another, called Xurana, " they are 
fragile ; I wonder if they will stand all the storms 
and knocking about on the sea." 

"Well," said Petronel, another, "I am going 
off at once, but I shall not try to take any one 
else. I mean to sail for the Island of Fame ; 
and then when I have all the pleasure it can 
give me, I shall start again for the country of 
the King." 



96 



©reece* 



"That is a good idea," chimed in Genestal. 
" I have a mind to see some of those islands my- 
self on the way, for 'tis only on the way, you 
know." 

" But," said Irenasus, a boy with a beautiful, 
calm face and a gentle voice, " the messenger 
told us exactly what the King wished us to do ; 
and see, on our charts, the course we are to take 
lies far to the right of the islands. Think, too, 
of the dangers he warned us of." 

" Dangers make a brave man's heart leap, not 
quail," answered Petronel proudly. " But I am 
not going to waste the time talking here. I 
shall be at the far-off country as soon as you, 
I expect." 

So saying, he pushed his boat out into the sea, 
jumped in, and, with a last ringing laugh and 
wave of the hand to his companions, he set off 
for the Islands of False Happiness. 

Genestal followed his example. Nurana 
wavered for a few moments — then thought he 
would wait and see what the others were going 
to do. He was timid and shy, and ever put off 
and put off. 

"I am going down to the city," said Irenaeus, 
decidedly. " You will come with me, little 
Michaelis, and we will try to keep our little 
boats near each other during the voyage." 



97 



He took his little companion's hand and turned 
his back on the sea ; he had only walked a few 
steps in the direction of the town when 
Nurana ran after him and took his other hand. 

" I shall come with you, too," he said. " But, 
Irenaeus, don't you think we might visit the 
islands, just to see what they are like?" 

" No," answered Irenaeus firmly; " and if you 
are going to waver all the time and want to 
follow the others, don't come with us, for you 
will only discourage Michaelis." 

Nurana followed them, however, to the city, 
though often turning back and straining his 
eyes to catch a last glimpse of Petronel's and 
Genestal's boats, which were already so far off 
that they looked like birds skimming the ocean. 
The way down to the city was steep and rugged, 
and Nurana thought of the return when they 
would have to climb, and that not alone, but 
with a burden, perhaps. But still he wavered; 
and half through fear, half through real earnest 
desire to please the King, he went on with 
Irenaeus till they reached the gates of the city. 

7 



98 



©reece* 



II. 

HOW PETRONEL STARTED FOR THE ISLAND OF 
FAME. 

Petronel started with a light heart; it was so 
merry out on the deep blue sea to be tossed up 
and down in his pretty little boat, the gold 
shone in the bright sunlight, and the breeze car- 
ried him along swiftly. At times he wondered 
where his other companions were, and felt a 
little regretful at having started so hastily 
without reflecting on all the messenger of the 
King had told them. 

He felt just a little lonely, too, as the days 
passed by, and he was so far away from the 
shore that he could no longer distinguish the 
trees in the garden. 

To his surprise, no enemies appeared for some 
days'; no storm arose, the voyage was calm and 
easy. He was so far away that he could no 
longer see the shore he had left, and he rather 
longed for adventures, but still none came. 

He looked out for Genestal, but could not see 
him. Then he wondered how far it was to the 
island, and if from there he would be able to 
see the beautiful country of the King. Then 
he looked at his chart, and saw that every mile 



Gbe Beefrefc Ibavem 



99 



toward the Island of Fame drew him away 
from the country of the King. For a moment 
or two he thought of changing his course and 
making straight for the country. " But no," he 
said to himself, " all the more glory to me to 
have accomplished the double voyage ; surely 
the King will admire my bravery and give me 
a greater reward than those who merely make 
a simple voyage to His country." 

" Bravo, Petronel ! " cried some one from a 
boat close behind his. 

Petronel turned round in astonishment. There, 
a few yards away from his own little boat, was 
a large vessel, with only a man at the helm. 
The boat was tawdrily gilded; had Petronel 
looked attentively he would have seen that it 
was just gilded over and not pure gold, like those 
the King had given the little boys. Here and 
there flowers and birds were painted on it in 
gaudy colors; the sails were not pure white, but 
bright scarlet. There was no cross at the mast- 
head. 

The man himself wore a painted mask ; but 
his eyes were cruel and cunning, and his voice, 
though he tried to soften it, was harsh and rasp- 
ing. 

" How do you know my name," asked Pe- 
tronel, " and where are you going?" 



100 



Greece. 



" I have often seen you before," returned the 
man, " playing in the garden, on the seashore, 
launching your boat, or steering toward the 
island. I have watched you many a time." 

"I never saw you," said Petronel, mistrust- 
ingly. " Are you one of the King's messengers?" 

"No, not I," retorted the man, with a half 
sneer, " I am a king in my own right. See," he 
added, drawing from his vest a glittering crown 
of false gold and sham jewels, " this is my 
crown." 

Petronel was dazzled by the artificial glitter, 
but at the same time he felt a voice within him 
warning him not to listen to another king than 
Him who had sent him the boat and bade him 
come to Him. 

" Have you ever been to the Island of Fame?" 
he asked the man, his curiosity getting the 
better of him. " And can you tell me what it is 
like? Is it worth my while going out of the 
way and running some risk to see?" 

"Have I been there?" laughed the man. 
"Why, it is I who am one of the chief rulers; 
very few on the island ever desert my service. 
And as to its being worth while your going out 
of the way, you are the best judge of that. I 
should say yes; but perhaps your courage is 
not equal to allow of your facing the dangers," 



101 



" Indeed," answered Petronel, haughtily, his 
face flushing with offended pride, " none can call 
me a coward. If it be only a matter of danger, 
why I will reach the island, never fear." 

" Well," returned the pretended king, " I must 
go about my business. I plainly foresee I shall 
have you for one of my most devoted subjects 
ere long on the island. I wish you every success, 
and will aid you in your efforts to land on the 
island. Till we meet again, farewell." 

"Farewell," said Petronel, stooping to see 
what had happened to his boat, for the strang- 
er's keel had scratched it, and made a long, 
unsightly crack in the bright gold. 

" That does not look very nice," said the boy 
to himself, " but I dare say I can get it patched 
up on the island." 

Suddenly a hurricane arose, which lashed the 
waves into raging madness, heaving them 
mountains high, whirling them round and round 
in giddying circles. Petronel' s little boat was 
tossed up and down and carried round the 
wind-driven whirlpools, and even he was afraid 
the fragile little boat must be overwhelmed. 
Every moment he expected to be drawn down 
beneath the hungry billows and cruel foam. 
Then he remembered what the King's mes- 
senger had said about imploring the aid of the 



102 



(Breece* 



King in danger, and be clasped his hands in 
agony and cried aloud to the King. 

Immediately appeared a beautiful child in a 
pure white robe, with a crown of thorns on His 
brow, and wounded hands and feet. Rays of 
light streamed from His heart; His face was 
most mild and most loving. He stood at the 
helm and guided the boat with His left hand. 
His right hand He stretched forth over the 
waves, and at His bidding they sank into peace. 

"My child," He said, when the boisterous 
wind was stilled to a whispering breeze, and 
the waves were gently lapping round the boat, 
" follow the course I have pointed out for you. 
Turn from the direction you had set your erring 
heart upon. Make for the land that is afar off — 
so beautiful that eye hath not seen nor ear 
heard, neither hath entered into the heart of man 
the glory and happiness there awaiting you." 

And lightly caressing the boy's curly head, 
He vanished in a cloud of golden light. 

" Really," said Petronel, musingly, " I think I 
will give up going to the Island of Fame and 
keep straight for the beautiful country." 

He consulted his chart, and for three days 
pursued the course in which the beautiful Child 
had directed him, and felt glad to think he 
should so soon reach the King's country. 



XLbc BestreD 1ba\?en. 



103 



But one day as he was leaning over the side 
of his boat, idly watching the fish darting here 
and there, having swimming matches in their 
gardens of scarlet coral and rainbow-hued sea 
anemones, he heard a voice calling him, and 
looking around, saw the man in the gayly 
painted boat, closely followed by a boy in a boat 
something like Petronel' s own, which, however, 
had been painted over to imitate the man's, 
until very little of the pure gold could be seen. 

"Why, Petronel," called the man, and his 
voice seemed rougher and harsher than before, 
" whither away so fast, and how about the Island 
of Fame? " 

Petronel related the events of the night of the 
dreadful hurricane, adding that he was now, by 
the help of his chart, steering toward the King's 
country. 

" And the glorious Island of Fame?" queried 
the man. " And the renown that would be yours 
if you reached it? Are all your plans, your 
sentiments of valor, thrown to the winds? Has 
one little storm at sea struck fear to your 
heart? " 

"No, I am not afraid," returned Petronel 
boldly, "but the beautiful Child, who stilled 
the raging of the tempest, bade me continue 
in this direction." 



104 



Greece. 



" I am bound for the Island of Fame," said 
the other boy. " Glory of triumphing over all 
difficulties for me — something real, certain, and 
near at hand; while your country that you 
speak of, where is it? So far distant that it 
cannot be seen. Who knows that he will cross 
the perilous waste of waters between this and 
that? Who can count on gaining that far dis- 
tant shore?" 

" But the Child who helped me before will 
come again in time of danger," answered 
Petronel. " Surely if He is able to still a tem- 
pest by His word, He can bring me safely to the 
haven." 

" And suppose He did not come?" sneered the 
man. " Suppose He were attending to some one 
else, and so busy that He could not think of 
you? Or suppose He forgot you?" 

" The King's messenger said He would help 
us in all times of need," answered Petronel. " I 
will trust Him, at any rate, as He helped me 
once. I will not be so ungrateful or mistrusting 
as to think He will leave me to perish in the 
future." 

" But even so," answered the man, " why not 
go to the Island of Fame on the way? It is so 
very little out of the way. It is so glorious to 
have accomplished what has been too difficult 



tlbe DesireD Ibaven. 105 



for others ; and think of arriving at that far-off 
country of yours with the victor's crown on your 
brow ! " 

Petronel wavered. 

" Think of Genestal, Nurana, and that little 
coward Irenasus seeing you arrive with the 
laurel crown, and of knowing that your name 
resounded in every corner of the earth." 

" How long will it take to get there?" faltered 
Petronel,. something within him telling him 
that he did wrong to parley with the tempter. 

"Oh, but a few days," answered the man; 
" but a very few days and you will be there." 

"Come," said the other boy, "come along 
with me. Let us have a race for the mastery. 
Whoever arrives there first shall be counted 
as most worthy of fame. Come ! On to honor 
and glory and renown ! " 

Petronel hesitated, looked at his chart, thought 
of the glory he would win by visiting the Island 
of Fame, thought of the Child with the crown 
of thorns, remembered the words of the King's 
messenger, and finally decided to change his 
direction and follow to the Island of Fame. 

For a time everything went on smoothly. The 
man kept his boat alongside of Petronel's, 
and made the way seem short and easy by 
entertaining stories, both of boys who had 



106 



(Breece, 



passed by the same way and of his own ad- 
ventures. According to him, all was pleasant 
and successful on the island. 

Storms passed over them ; but the man in the 
painted boat sang and laughed and talked of the 
pleasures before them, so that the boys heeded 
not the raging waves and boisterous wind. 

At last they hove in sight of the trees and 
mountains that were on the island, and the 
hearts of both boys beat fast. And now the 
man in the boat left them, as he said he must 
go to encourage others who were loitering on 
the way. 

And now the boys were no longer friends, for 
both were too eager, each one, to reach the 
island before the other — watching each other 
with envious eyes, forgetful of aught save the 
race for renown. 

All the lessons of his childhood, all the words 
of the King's messenger, all the whispering 
voices of unseen angels from heaven, were 
unheeded by Petronel in his one overmaster- 
ing desire for glory. 

They were very near the island, and could 
see the inhabitants in robes of purple and 
crowned with laurel, every leaf of which was 
an emerald glittering in the sun. But the little 
boats struck against treacherous rocks under- 



107 



neath the sea, and much of the pure gold was 
scratched and the delicate engraving effaced. 
An old man with a long beard passed by them 
in a boat. He had cast his crown into the sea, 
and changed his purple vestment for one of 
coarse brown cloth. His eyes were full of tears, 
and his voice was sad and gentle. 

"My children," he called to them in passing, 
" be not deceived; there is no happiness to be 
found there. Turn ere it is too late, and come 
with me to that country where alone all is 
never-ending bliss." 

But Petronel and the other boy called the old 
man coward and fool, and he passed away. 

Petronel was quite close now, but the inhab- 
itants came and threw stones at him that he 
might not land ; he was bruised and faint, but 
he would not give in. 

At last he landed, and some of the inhab- 
itants helped him to drag his little boat ashore. 
But oh ! what mud was there ; what splashes 
spoilt the brightness of the gold — splashes which 
would not rub off the boat, but ate into the 
purest metals, even gold and silver. 

Petronel obtained a purple robe, and an 
emerald and gold crown from the academy on 
the island. He was so proud that he left his 
boat drifting about in .the mud on the shore, 



108 



Greece* 



and strutted about all day with his crown on 
his head. But soon he found that the island 
was not so blissful as he had imagined. Envy 
and jealousy were rife ; strifes and contentions 
arose continually. One would revile another, 
and cast mud and stones to tarnish the purple 
robe and bruise the very heart. 

When there was a feast, each strove to be 
first; and each wanting to be king, spoke evil 
of him who was chosen. One king after another 
was dethroned, and sometimes the king was 
treated with the greatest cruelty. Petronel 
himself was badly treated, and instead of return- 
ing good for evil he fought and struggled as 
hard as any. 

One day, when envy was gnawing at his 
heart, he resolved to be king himself. Now no 
longer he prayed, nor listened to the voice of 
his guardian angel. The thought of being first 
overmastered him ; he must be king at any cost, 
and then he would start with his kingly robes 
and royal crown for the country of the Great 
King, where he would be welcomed as a sov- 
ereign. Poor, silly boy, how little he realized 
that the King of humility loves only the simple 
and lowly of heart, and recognizes no con- 
queror save him that overcometh the world and 
his own sinful passions ! 



109 



So Petronel went about the island telling 
wicked stories of the king then reigning, and 
saying in what a wonderful way he had dis- 
covered the king's wickedness. 

The inhabitants, who were only too ready to 
believe evil of others, gave credit to all his 
stories, and a plot was made to take the king's 
life. But they would not give him one death- 
blow; he should be tortured. A band of the 
most wicked entered his dwelling by night and 
made him prisoner. They led him to the 
seashore, and, after inflicting wounds all over 
his body with daggers, they choked him with 
mud, and left him to gasp his last breath on the 
seashore all alone. 

But when the king was dead, a fearful con- 
fusion arose. Each wished to be king in his 
stead. But Petronel, by reason of some fol- 
lowers who admired him, and by dint of great 
exertion in the way of reasoning and holding 
his own merits to the light, was at last pro- 
claimed king. " Now, at last," he said to him- 
self, " I shall be happy." 

He had never been so wretched in his life. 
He was haunted by the fear of sudden and 
treacherous death; he doubted the sincerity of 
every one who flattered or spoke kindly to him ; 
his heart was sore and torn with the biting words 



110 



Greece* 



of his enemies. At times he thought he would 
go and set sail for the King's country, but the 
sea looked so deep and so boundless, his faith 
in all things was shaken. He hardly remem- 
bered any of his old hopes and beliefs; the 
simple love and trustfulness of his character 
were uprooted from his heart; the innocence 
that had made his life so happy in the garden 
was sullied. 

So he lingered on day after day, and by force of 
will made all men fear and obey him. And the 
man with the gaudily painted boat came and 
helped him govern, and flattered and deceived 
him into imagining that he was happy, or at least 
at peace. But all the time this false friend was 
poisoning the boy's mind and delighting in his 
miserable handiwork. Every day the pain at 
Petronel's heart grew more and more unbear- 
able ; he now thought with despair of the happy 
time he had spent in the garden with his little 
playfellows, and wished that good little Irenaeus 
— the Gentle, as they used to call him — were 
near. 

One day when he went out into the streets a 
man called a disgraceful name after him. Some 
others took it up, and mocking him and calling 
after him and singing jeering songs, they pur- 
sued him to his dwelling. 



Zbc Beeirefc 1bav>em 



ill 



"It is all over now," thought Petronel. "I 
have missed true happiness; I have lost my 
faith ; I must die. The King will surely not re- 
ceive me, as I slighted all His messages and 
warnings. My boat is disfigured and shattered, 
the pieces filthy and discolored; the sail is 
stained with the blood of the king I helped — 
nay, caused — to kill ; the cross is gone, I know 
not whither; I have lost my life." 

He went to a cupboard, drew thence a little 
dark-colored vial, and raising it to his lips 
drained it to the last drop. The man of the 
painted boat came in soon after and found 
Petronel lying on his back on the ground dead, 
with the little vial tightly clasped in his fingers. 

And with a mocking laugh he bore Petronel 
away to his own unhappy country, where all is 
darkness, weeping, and gnashing of teeth. 

III. 

HOW GENESTAL FARED ON HIS VOYAGE TO THE 
ISLAND OF PLEASURE. 

Genestal was of an easy-going, lazy tempera- 
ment, and when once he had got his little boat 
launched he troubled no more about the mes- 
senger or the King's good pleasure. 

He watched Petronel's boat skimming the 



112 



Greece* 



ocean like a swallow, and leaving him a long 
way behind, but he only smiled and said to 
himself : 

" What a hurry Petronel is always in ; I shall 
take it more easily." 

No storms disturbed his voyage ; no enemies 
assaulted him ; no regrets, hopes, or fears ruffled 
the calm. He hardly gave himself the trouble 
to think of anything; but a sort of dreamy 
satisfaction took hold of him at the pleasures in 
store. 

The voyage was very, very calm, and he was 
almost surprised when he found that his boat 
was drawing so near the island. No difficulties 
arose as he reached the shore ; no rocks 
scratched his boat ; he simply dragged it on to 
the sands and received a warm welcome from 
the boys and girls playing on the shore. 

All the pebbles and shells of the shingle were 
of bright colors — blue, red, green, yellow, and 
orange. One of the boys told him to put some 
in his mouth, and he found they were delicious 
bon-bons and chocolate creams. The sands 
themselves were the sweetest sugar; the rocks 
overhanging the shore were real wedding-cake. 
Genestal wondered they were not all eaten 
away. 

"Oh, you know," said one of the boys, "we 



XLhc Beelrefc 1ba\?en. 113 



get tired of them from time to time ; and then, 
when we know we can always have them, we 
don't want to be always eating. But come up 
farther, and we'll show you things even more 
wonderful." 

The island was full of palaces of gold and 
silver, in which was the grandest furniture 
imaginable. The trees in the woods all bore 
delicious fruits, and the cocoanuts each con- 
tained a pretty toy. 

For weeks and weeks Genestal did nothing 
but eat and drink and sleep ; but one day, after 
he had been on the island for some little time, 
he bethought himself of his little boat, and went 
down to the shore to look at it. 

Great animals were crawling about — hideous 
creatures such as Genestal had never seen 
before. As they crawled they left a long trail 
of slime, which would not disappear with all the 
rubbing Genestal tried. Several sorts of toad- 
stools had grown on the boat, and when Genestal 
tore them off they left a dark stain. 

The fact was, he was getting rather tired of 
the island and of the pleasures he had only to 
stretch out his hand to take hold of. But he 
could not find his chart in the boat. He had 
forgotten everything that the King's messenger 
had told him, and he had but a very dim recol- 

8 



114 



Greece* 



lection of the joy for evermore that awaited him 
and his companions in that far-off country. 

So he left the boat to the animals and the 
toadstools and went back to his palace, where 
he spent the livelong day in eating and drinking 
and sleeping, for he was growing more and 
more lazy every day. He had slaves to wait 
upon him, too — beautiful girls and boys — who 
watched his every movement to be ever ready to 
fulfil his slightest desire before he had the 
trouble of speaking. 

He was very cruel to his slaves, too, though 
they served him so faithfully ; and he used to 
beat them when he could rouse himself suffi- 
ciently. He was now so lazy that he would no 
longer give himself the trouble to visit his 
friends. He had forgotten how to read, and toys 
no longer amused him. Sometimes his slaves 
sang to him, or played on musical instruments. 
And he was punished for his greediness by his 
liver growing fat and hurting him, and he began 
to suffer much pain, grew sad, and felt an 
intense loathing of his life creep upon him. 
Then he began to drink large doses of a kind of 
spirits which was supposed to cause forgetful- 
ness. 

Once he had a dream, in which he thought 
he was playing in the garden with Petronel, 



ftbe 5>estrefc 1ba\?en. lis 



Irenaeus, and little Michaelis. On a bush grew 
large red berries, sweet and luscious to the 
taste as they were beautiful to look upon. He 
and Michaelis were plucking them by handfuls 
and eating them, when suddenly an angel ap- 
peared, and, touching the bush, it dried and 
withered; the berries shrivelled up and fell to 
the ground. He cried out in his anger, but the 
angel told him the berries would poison him. 
And then Irenaeus read something out of a book 
about a wonderful tree bearing twelve kinds of 
fruit, and yielding fruit every month. But that 
tree was in a far-off country, whence no travel- 
ler ever returned. 

Genestal awoke, but he could not help think- 
ing of the far-off country; and as he lay in a 
darkened chamber he thought he would really 
start the next day for the country of the Great 
King. 

But in the morning, when the slaves came 
and drew back the curtains, and the sunlight 
streamed in at the window, he thought that no 
country could possibly be more beautiful. And 
the spirits and the wine he drank gradually 
effaced the dream from his memory. 

And one day, when he felt a longing for some 
change, he started for the seashore, but on the 
way drank such quantities of wine that he fell 



116 



Greece* 



senseless on the road, and the man in the painted 
boat came and carried him away to the dark 
regions of endless pain ; whose inhabitants are 
banished forever from the majesty of God's 
presence. 

IV. 

THE ADVENTURES OF IREN^US, MICHAELIS, AND 
NURANA. 

Irenaeus persuaded his companions to follow 
him into the poorest part of the great city, 
where the streets were so narrow and dirty that 
Nurana wanted to turn back in disgust, and even 
little Michaelis turned sick and faint. 

But Irenaeus made them go on till they came 
to a house half in ruins, and so dirty that a 
respectable pig would have felt uncomfortable 
if lodged therein. 

They went in, and in a room on the ground 
floor found three little beggar children — one 
lame, one blind, and the eldest covered with the 
loathsome sores of leprosy. 

The latter Irenaeus invited to come with him 
on his journey. Michaelis led the blind boy 
away, and Nurana, at the bidding of Irenaeus, 
raised the lame one in his arms to bear him 
away to the seashore. 



ttbe ©eslrefc Ibaven, 



117 



Many people flocked around them in the 
streets to ask where they were going. Some 
mocked at them; others tried gently to dissuade 
them from going. Some even laid hands on 
them, but Irenaeus bravely passed on unheed- 
ingly, encouraging his companions; and not one 
of them flinched when the words and cries were 
changed into blows, and stones and dirt thrown 
on them. 

The ascent of the hill was, as they had fore- 
seen, very difficult. A heavy thunder-storm came 
on, and while the lightning and the rain half 
blinded them, the wet earth clung to their feet 
and the loosened stones no longer formed safe 
supports. Still they went on undaunted, 
though sometimes slipping back a few steps, 
sometimes falling on their knees. 

"Irenaeus," called Nurana more than once, 
"I cannot go on." Then Irenaeus would give 
him his disengaged hand and help him as well 
as he could. 

Little Michaelis never flinched. He had always 
been used to follow Irenaeus, and to look up to 
him as his guide, and he felt glad even in diffi- 
culties and hardships to follow his friend. 

At last the storm died away, and the 
sun shone forth. And when his fierce rays fell 
on their uncovered heads, they suffered even 



118 



(Breece* 



more than during the storm. But finally they 
reached the summit of the mountain, and it was 
not difficult to descend the grassy slope running 
down to the seashore. 

44 Come," said Irenasus, " we will go to the gar- 
den and choose flowers to decorate our boats." 

At the garden gate they met the King's 
messenger. In his hand he held three thorny 
crowns and three garlands of flowers. 

" Choose," he said. " The crown of thorns is 
what your King Himself wore when He passed 
through this country." 

" Give me what my King wore," said Irenaeus, 
taking a thorny crown and pressing it on his 
head. 

But Michaelis chose a garland of white and 
blue violets, and Nuranaa crown of scarlet pop- 
pies. 

In the garden Irenasus chose white lilies to 
adorn his boat, Michaelis violets, and Nurana 
poppies. Then they embarked, not without 
regret for the beautiful garden in which they 
had played as little children, and for their 
friends and relatives in the town, whom they 
never thought to see again. 

" You will try to keep with me, will you not, 
Irenaeus?" said little Michaelis beseechingly. 
" I should be lost, I know, if I were left alone." 



Zbc Desired Ibaven, 119 



"Yes, we will keep as close as possible," an- 
swered Irenaeus ; " we shall encourage one an- 
other." 

The sea was rough, and violent winds swept 
across the waters. Strange kinds of monsters 
swam about beneath the waves, often threaten- 
ing to overturn the boats and giving them vio- 
lent- shocks. The thorns in his crown pierced 
deep into Irenaeus' head, and made many red 
and painful wounds. 

" Cast off your crown," saidNurana; " you can 
never bear the pain." 

" What my King has worn I will wear too," 
answered Irenseus; and even as he spoke the 
drops of blood falling from his brow changed 
into bright red roses, more lovely than any 
the children had seen, even in their beautiful 
garden by the seashore. 

After they had been some days in mid- 
ocean they saw a boat approaching. At the 
same time the wind drifted their boats far 
asunder. It was toward evening, and in the 
deepening gloom they could not even see one 
another. 

Dark clouds were driven up from the horizon 
by the wind; the hour of peril was nigh. 
Irenaeus knelt in his boat and prayed not only 
for himself, but also for his companions. The 



120 



Greece. 



enemy drew near and, with a loud, mocking 
laugh, cried: 

" Ha, Nurana, seest thou these clouds, and the 
angry sea? Hearest thou the howling of the 
wind? Thinkest thou that thou canst ever reach 
that far-away shore, so far that, after so many 
days' sailing, thou canst not even yet descry it? 
No, no, Nurana. Come with me; I will help 
thee and guide thee to the Islands of Riches, of 
Pleasure, and Fame. The sea is quiet yonder; 
the clouds do not reach so far. Come, for thou 
wilt never reach that country." 

"No, no, Nurana, do not go," said the lame 
boy. " This is an enemy. See ! he has no cross 
on the masthead; his sails are not white; his 
boat is not pure gold." 

"No cross," sneered the man. "Think you 
that the cross will save you? No, no, poor fools, 
be not so easily dupedo Look on your chart, 
and you will see that you have not even yet 
traversed one-half of the distance from your 
garden to the country of the King. Not one- 
half — not one-half of the dangers you will 
encounter have you passed." 

Then Nurana, having no longer Irenaeus at 
hand to encourage him, gave way and followed 
the enemy, begging only to be taken .quickly 
from the storm and the dangers. 



Cbe Desired fmvett. 121 



The little lame boy resolved not to follow the 
enemy. He cast himself in the sea, praying to 
the King to send His messengers to deliver him. 
And lo ! two angels came and bore him away to 
that far-off country and laid him at the feet of 
the King, who kissed him tenderly and gave him 
a glorious crown for his patience in suffering, 
and a celestial harp that he might sing the song 
of the redeemed forever. 

And the enemy tempted Xurana to land on 
the Island of Riches, and there he picked up so 
much gold — for all the pebbles were pieces of 
money — that he locked himself up in a large 
cellar to count it. But when he wished to leave 
it, he could not unfasten the door. Xo one 
knew where he was, for he had made no friends, 
resolving to keep all his gold for himself; and 
he died of starvation in the midst of the gold 
that had brought him no happiness. 

Meanwhile Irenaeus and Michaelis remained 
steadfast in spite of many attacks of the enemy. 
Storms arose, but they passed; the journey 
seemed at times long and irksome, but they 
trusted the promises of the King, and knew 
they would land safely home at last. 

At last an adverse wind came and drove them 
apart again, and Irenaeus, looking out for his 
little companion, saw a bright light in the 



122 



Greece* 



distance. His heart beat fast, for he knew it 
was the promised land. A high wall of shining 
jasper, built on a foundation of all manner of 
precious stones, rose before him. Through a 
gate of pearl he saw the streets of the city of 
pure gold — as it were of transparent glass — glit- 
tering in the light of the glory of God, and of 
the Lamb, the light thereof. 

But suddenly, all around him, he saw huge 
monsters with fiery eyes and long claws. A 
darkness filled the atmosphere; a sudden 
giddiness came over him ; his boat was tossed 
hither and thither by the monsters swimming 
about in the water. For a moment he thought 
all was lost. He looked for the leper boy whom 
he had tended during the voyage, to whom he 
had given the best place in the boat, and on 
whom he had lavished the tenderest care. But 
he was gone, and Irenaeus was alone in the 
darkness. 

Then he heard the voice of many waters and 
the voice of mighty thunderings, saying: 
" Alleluia, for the Lord God Omnipotent 
reigneth." He heard the voice of a great mul- 
titude, the sound of harpers harping with 
harps. 

Then he was deafened by loud mocking 
laughter close to his ears, and hoarse cries of 



" Down with him ! " " Seize him ! " " Let him 
not go ! " 

But he knelt and prayed and trusted in the 
King, and cried aloud when the danger seemed 
the greatest and his heart quailed within him. 
All around was darkness. The little boat was 
whirled rcand and round; the waters opened, 
and far below he saw cruel, hungry flames 
leaping up, as if they would ensnare him in 
spite of himself. He heard fearful wailing and 
groaning. A foul, thick smoke, with a nauseous 
smell, came rushing up from the pit. Still he 
prayed, trusting in the King and saying : " Lord, 
save me ; I perish." 

Suddenly, with howls of baffled malice, the 
demons dispersed; the air became pure and 
clear. He was at the very gates of the city. 

The pearly gate opened as his boat touched 
the shore. There, amid countless throngs of 
angels and saints, stood the King, who wore a 
crown of thorns, which shone like no light that 
mortal imagination has ever conceived. His 
welcoming, outstretched hands were pierced; 
He smiled so kindly; His voice was sweeter 
than the voice of the morning stars when they 
sang together for joy at the creation of the 
world as He drew Irenaeus to His breast, and the 
love from His heart thrilled the boy's soul, 



124 



©reece* 



while a chorus of praise and joy rang through 
the courts of heaven as He said : " Called and 
chosen and faithful, enter thou into the joy of 
thy Lord." 

Then, with the great multitude of white-robed 
saints, among whom Irenaeus recognized his 
leper boy and Michaelis, he passed into the 
beautiful country, to join in the eternal song of 
praise to the Lord God Almighty, to follow the 
Lamb whithersoever He goeth. 




fl>ortugaI. 
The Jaws of death. 

A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy 
right hand, but it shall not come nigh thee.— Ps. xc. 7. 

N the sixteenth century, when 'the 
conquest of the New World opened 
a new vista of splendor and glory to 
the merchant and soldier, the one 
eager of acquiring wealth and the other 
stirred by the longing for a brilliant cam- 
paign, there lived on the coast of Portugal 
a rich merchant named Vasco di San Estevano. 
Notwithstanding his riches, he was very pious 
and charitable, acknowledging that all his wealth 
belonged to Almighty God, and that he was but 
the steward to whom was entrusted the care of 
dispensing his large fortune for the glory of 
God and the good of the poor and afflicted. 

Now, the secret of the virtues for which he was 
renowned in the town was, that when a little 
child his father had one day the honor of offer- 
125 




126 



Portugal* 



ing hospitality to the heroic Father of the 
poor, St. John of God, then revered throughout 
the length and breadth of Spain and Portugal 
for his saintly life and power of working mira- 
cles ; and the saint had blessed the little child 
and made him promise that if he were ever very 
rich he would always give at least a third of his 
income to the poor, and that on Christmas Day 
he would feed and clothe seven poor children, 
in honor of the infant Jesus and the seven swords 
of sorrow which pierced the heart of His most 
holy Mother when she saw her dear Son suffer- 
ing. 

Vasco di San Estevano had faithfully kept 
his promises ; and more than that, he brought 
up his children to follow his example, and every 
Christmas Day twenty-one children came to his 
house to be fed and receive an outfit of clothes — 
seven for Vasco, and seven each for his son and 
daughter. 

When Vasco heard of the wealth of the newly 
discovered countries, of the precious stones, the 
gold, the rare minerals and scented woods, he 
resolved to try his luck also, not only to enrich 
his son and daughter, but also that he might 
have more abundant store for the afflicted poor 
of his native country. 

His wife and children did all they could to 



Gbe 3-aws of E>eatb, 127 



dissuade him from carrying out his plan. They 
had heard that there were strange, dark people 
in the new countries, who fought like wild 
beasts to defend themselves from the invaders ; 
and, indeed, they had known more than one 
family whose son had gone out buoyant with 
hope and expectation of returning laden with 
riches, who had laid down his life away in that 
foreign land — unknown, uncared for, perhaps in 
the hands of the cruel barbarians, or all alone, 
with no one to help him in his dying hour. 

But Vasco was determined to go, the more 
so as his brother, a priest, had been sent out by 
his superiors as a missionary. 

"At least I shall find Iago," he said. "No 
news has been had of him for a long time, and 
I am anxious for his safety, as the savages 
would fall on the missionaries first of all, and 
he is my only brother." 

So he put his house in order, made his will, 
and gave many orders to his wife and children 
before starting. 

"Be sure, whatever else you forget," he said 
over and over again, " you keep my promises to 
the holy man of God and feed the twenty-one 
poor children on Christmas Day, and bid them 
pray for me, for it may be that I shall stand in 
great need of their prayers." 



128 



©ortugaL 



His wife and children clung to him weeping, 
begging him to put off going; and had it not 
been for his brother he might even have done 
so at the last moment. With tears in his eyes, 
he gently put his loved ones away from him, 
saying : 

" When my mother was dying, we promised 
to love each other as she had loved us; and 
would she not have gone after him even to the 
very end of the world?" 

So saying, he stepped into the boat which 
was to bear him alongside the ship, and left 
his wife and children weeping by the sea- 
shore. 

For a moment, the wife, in her agony, almost 
decided to throw herself into the sea, that he 
might come back to her ; but stayed by the hand 
of Divine Providence, she turned to her sor- 
rowing children and tried to comfort them with 
hopes of the glad return of their dear one. 

Then they returned to their home, after hav- 
ing visited the shrine of the Blessed Virgin 
and prayed for the safety of him who was gone 
forth, as they thought, into the very jaws of 
death. During his absence they were most 
faithful to all his injunctions, and especially 
at Christmas time they prepared a feast for fifty 
poor children, each of whom received a warm 



Cbe 5aws of H)eatb, 129 



garment made by the deft fingers of Vasco's 
wife and pretty little daughter, Margarita, 
during the long winter evenings, while the 
bright-eyed Michel read the lives of saints aloud 
to divert them. 

Meanwhile Vasco arrived, after a long and 
stormy voyage, at the northern coast of South 
America. Here he found numbers of adven- 
turers from all parts of Europe, all drawn 
thither by the report of the boundless wealth to 
be found in the new country. The merchant 
made inquiries of every one he met, but for a 
long time could hear nothing of his brother. At 
last a Spaniard, who had travelled far into the 
country, said he had heard of a party of mission- 
aries who were making for the west coast, to an 
important city of the natives, called by them 
Calavera, and by the Spaniards Sant' Iago di 
Huesava. From the description the man gave 
of the missionaries, the merchant felt sure that 
his brother belonged to the party, and he re- 
solved at once to push on to Sant' Iago di 
Huesava. It was no easy matter ; the country 
was unknown to him, and for the moment there 
was no one going that way, and Vasco was 
obliged to set out accompanied only by his 
faithful servant Jose, who had attended him 
on the voyage. The Spaniard gave them full 
9 



130 



Portugal. 



directions, and warned them of the many dangers 
to be encountered on the way ; and trusting in 
the help of Divine Providence, they started, with 
a compass and chart of the heavens, for the west 
coast. 

It was difficult, as the Spaniard had said. In 
the first place, they had to pass through thick 
forests, so overgrown that they could hardly 
make their way through the thick brushwood 
and brambles, and every now and then a strange 
beast or hissing snake would start up almost 
from underneath their very feet, and dart away 
into the wood. Though they were brave men, the 
thought of passing the night in the forest was 
anything but agreeable to them, for the trees 
were no safe resting-place for them, seeing that 
the deadly snakes themselves coil round the 
trees. Night came on, and they agreed to rest 
in the branches of a tree, taking it in turns to 
watch. Neither of them slept much, and with 
the first glimmer of light they started again on 
their journey. They spent five days in this man- 
ner, wandering through the thick forest ; fifteen 
days they wended their way through the plains, 
and at length reached the mountains which sep- 
arated them from the coast. Four days were 
spent in ascending the rugged mountain side, 
and at last reaching the summit, they looked 



Zbc Jaws of Deatb, 131 



down and saw a city stretching out from the foot 
of the mountain to the seashore. They knelt 
down and thanked God for delivering them 
through so many dangers ; and recommending 
themselves to His protection, began the descent, 
which was very easy, and occupied only a few 
hours. 

Their arrival in the city caused some sensa- 
tion; the inhabitants came out to look at them, 
and made signs to them, and seemed quite 
friendly. One little boy came up to them and 
took their hands and smiled, and seemed so 
pleased that they thought he must have seen 
some of their race before, and tried to make him 
understand by signs that they were seeking 
their fellow-countrymen. He was puzzled for a 
little while, then darted off, and in a few min- 
utes returned, followed by a Franciscan mission- 
ary. To their great joy they found he was a 
Portuguese, and he informed them that Vasco's 
brother was there, but very ill, and had been 
taken up to a little house on the mountain for 
the sake of change of air, as he had been suffer- 
ing from a fever. He told them, moreover, that 
there were other Portuguese in the town ; that 
they were not disliked by the natives, and had 
already a considerably large class of cate- 
chumens. 



132 



©ortugaL 



After they had rested, the missionary took 
them up to the house on the mountain side, 
where Vasco had the great joy of embracing his 
brother. 

Vasco spent some months with his brother, 
trading with the natives, meantime, in precious 
stones, of which he bought a great collection to 
take home to Portugal. 

At last, however, he bethought himself of 
his wife and children, and resolved to return 
at the end of December, spending Christmas 
Day, perhaps the last on earth, with his dearly 
loved brother. On the day itself, they descend- 
ed into the town, heard Mass, and received 
Holy Communion, and then the party of mis- 
sionaries, Vasco, and Jose, went up the hillside 
to talk quietly together without interruption. 
They had so much to say to each other, so 
many messages to send home to their superi- 
ors and brothers. It was a calm, peaceful day ; 
they sat on the grass, and "held sweet com- 
munion together." Vasco was wondering what 
his dear ones at home were doing, and if they 
were thinking of and praying for him, when 
Jose suddenly cried: 

" Look far out on the sea; what is that great 
dark cloud? " 

They gazed out as far as they could see, 



Zbc Jaws of Beatb» 



133 



at what seemed to be a great cloud, but as it 
came nearer and nearer they heard the rush- 
ing of water, and saw that it was a wave of 
gigantic height rolling on toward the land. 
The people on the shore had seen it also, and 
were running to warn their fellow-citizens. 
Soon the inhabitants of the city came rushing 
out in the direst confusion ; women with children 
in their arms, men with bundles of their goods, 
their most precious possessions, anything that 
they could lay their hands on in their terror. 
But the great wave came rolling on, and with a 
thundering roar, like the booming of cannon, 
swept over the city, carrying away houses, 
people, animals, even the little hut used as a 
chapel. 

Very few of the inhabitants of the city had 
gained a sufficient height on the mountain to be 
saved ; about twenty in all were spared, and they 
had lost all their possessions. Never had Vasco 
witnessed such a terrible sight: thousands of 
men, women, and children swept away as lightly 
as the down is blown across the moors by the 
wind. 

The men who were saved, however, told the 
Portuguese that this calamity was not unprec- 
edented ; twice in their own lifetime such waves 
had swept away towns on different parts of the 



134 



iPortugaL 



coast, only much farther south ; they had im- 
agined themselves in all security so near the 
north. There was nothing left now but to push 
on toward the northern coast, which they did 
much more quickly than they had come, thanks 
to the natives, who knew every inch of the 
country. There they found a ship, and Vasco 
embarked with Jose for Portugal, leaving his 
brother and the missionaries to carry on their 
noble work of evangelizing the nations. 

In three months Vasco was safe home again ; 
he had been so long absent that his wife and 
children were growing very uneasy. He had 
no means of sending them a letter which would 
arrive before himself, and one evening when 
they were seated around the table at supper 
Vasco walked in. Oh ! how pleased they were 
to see him ; never did father receive a warmer 
welcome. They sat up all night, hearing his 
adventures, and thanking God for bringing him 
safely home again. When he told of the great 
wave sweeping away the town on Christmas 
Day, they exclaimed : 

" On Christmas Day we were so anxious and 
unhappy that we redoubled our prayers, and 
instead of twenty-one children we summoned 
fifty to our dinner-table, and begged them all 
to pray for our dear one." 



Zbc Jaws of Beatb* 135 



Vasco stayed at home after that ; he grew 
very rich indeed, and had the happiness of 
living to see his son and daughter married, and 
of seeing his children's children around him. 
And to this day, in the family of San Estevano, 
every Christmas Day, fifty poor children are 
fed and clothed in honor of the Infant Jesus, 
and to keep the promise made to the servant of 
God and Father of the poor, St. John of God. 



IRussia. 
The frozen hands. 

Then did He smile, a smile of love so deep, 

Winter, himself, grew warm beneath its glow ; 
From drooping branches, scented blossoms peep ; 
Up springs the grass, and sealed fountains flow. 

HE Princess Gerda Istrogolaff and her 
little brother were playing in their 
nursery one afternoon in the winter- 
time, when the snow lay on the 
ground and icicles hung from every tree, and 
the wind was so bitterly cold that the children 
were not allowed to go out. 

" Oh, look, Ivan," cried the little Princess, as 
she looked out of the window into the castle- 
yard. " See the poor little beggars." 

" The steward will give them some money," 
said Ivan ; " our father has ordered him never to 
turn away a beggar from the door." 

" I wish we could go down and speak to them," 
said Gerda. " We never do anything for the 
136 




tCbe tftosen 1ban&a* 137 



poor, and yet our mother's mother is descended 
from the Queen Elizabeth of Hungary who was 
so good to the poor that she worked miracles." 

" Well," returned the Prince, " I have a plan in 
my head, and if you will promise not to tell it 
to nurse, as you generally do, I will tell you." 

" Oh, Ivan, I promise faithfully, and I never 
told any of your own secrets when you made 
me promise not." 

" Come into the corner, then," said Ivan, draw- 
ing into a corner of the spacious nursery. " Did 
you listen to the Father Nikanor preaching last 
Sunday, and hear what he said about those 
words in the Gospel, 'Inasmuch as ye have 
done it unto one of the least of these My 
brethren, ye have done it unto Me ' ? Well, we 
must do something for the poor this winter." 

" But what shall we do? We are never allowed 
to go out alone." 

" We shall go out on Christmas Eve, when 
everybody is in church, and Caterina has left us 
alone here. You must sew some clothes by that 
time, instead of always making clothes for your 
dolls, and we must get the cook to give us some 
food, and we will give all the roubles grand- 
mother gave us on our fetes." 

"Yes," assented Gerda cheerfully, although 
she disliked sewing very much. " But oh, Ivan, 



138 



1Ru60fa, 



have you thought how dark it will be, and the 
wolves? I heard one howling last Christmas 
night, when I was in bed." 

" Well, of course, if you are going to be afraid 
I must go by myself," rejoined Ivan, rather 
coarsely. " You are always preaching about the 
poor, so I thought you would be brave enough 
for that." 

" Yes, I will go, Ivan darling," said the little 
girl, putting her arms coaxingly round her 
brother's neck, " and I will begin the sewing to- 
morrow." 

Caterina now came in to put the children to 
bed, for in the tenth century children saw their 
parents very seldom ; they were brought up 
very strictly, and punished for the least naughti- 
ness. 

Every day the little Princess sat sewing for 
the poor children, when she and Ivan were not 
at lessons with the priest, or out walking in the 
grounds with Caterina, or sleighing. 

Toward Christmas Eve their father and 
mother went to St. Petersburg to spend Christ- 
mas at the Court of the Czar, as the Prince 
Istrogolaff was one of the Czar's gentlemen, 
and the Princess a lady in waiting to the 
Czarina. 

Ivan and Gerda were quite free to carry out 



139 



their little plans, as Caterina troubled little 
enough about them when the Princess Istrogolaff 
was not at the Castle. 

On Christmas Eve, therefore, they found 
themselves quite free to dress in their warm 
furs, to fill a large basket with the clothes made 
by the Princess Gerda and the good things they 
coaxed from the cook. They carried the basket 
between them downstairs, when every one was 
in church at confession, opened the door, and 
looked out. 

It was a bitterly cold night, and the snow lay 
deep on the ground ; it was quite hard, for a 
frost had set in a few days before. The moon 
was bright, and many beautiful stars studded 
the dark blue sky. 

" Ugh," shivered Gerda, as they stepped out 
into the cold. 

"Now, then," said Ivan sharply, "are you 
going to turn coward?" 

" No," answ T ered Gerda; but her voice faltered. 

The moon lighted up the snow till it shone 
with dazzling brightness, but the shadows cast 
by the clusters of trees and shrubs were all the 
blacker for the light. What terror, thought the 
little Princess, might not be hidden in the gloom, 
ready to spring out and pounce upon them as 
they passed. 



140 



IRuesfa, 



" Come on," said the Prince, as they passed 
by a little plantation of fir-trees ; " let us hasten, 
or perhaps Caterina will notice that we are 
gone, and come after us." 

In reality, he was beginning to be rather 
afraid himself, but would not have owned it for 
the world before his sister. 

" We can't go any faster with this heavy bas- 
ket," gasped Gerda. " Change hands with me, 
Ivan." Her poor little hands were fast becom- 
ing numbed. 

They trudged on for about a mile, and then 
found themselves on the top of a hill, at the 
foot of which was the village. They could hear 
the Christmas bells and see the lights of the 
torches which the people going to church car- 
ried in their hands. 

" There," said Ivan joyfully, as they put down 
the basket to rest for a moment ; " we have gone 
more than half the way." 

But it was very difficult going down the hill 
with the heavy basket. It was so slippery that 
every now and then they slid down a few steps, 
which ended in a fall. Gerda lost one of her 
snow-shoes, and Ivan bruised his head very badly 
in a fall. 

" Shall we ever get there?" sobbed Gerda, her 
little shoeless foot hurting her dreadfully with 



Zbc jfrc^en Ibanfcs, 



141 



cold. "My hands and foot are freezing, Ivan, 
and they will drop off." 

" So are mine," answered Ivan. " What shall 
we do if our hands freeze to the basket? They 
will have to be cut off." 

Gerda sobbed louder than ever, and even 
Ivan's tears flowed. They were so cold and 
tired that their courage disappeared. 

"Let us pray to the infant Jesus," suggested 
Gerda. " Perhaps He will not let us freeze like 
that, when we came out on purpose to please 
Him." 

They knelt down and prayed together : 

" Jesus, sweetest infant, born in a stable, laid 
in a manger, crucified on the hard wood of the 
cross, be our stay in the hour of need," a little 
prayer taught them by their mother, to which 
Gerda added: 

" And please keep our hands from freezing to 
the basket, dear Jesus." 

Then they took up their basket, but it had 
grown so light that they cried out in wonder. 

" You have let some of the things drop out," 
said Ivan. 

" No, it is just as full up to the brim as when 
we started, and, see, the things are in the same 
place," said Gerda, lifting a corner of the wolf- 
skin with which they had covered their treasures, 



142 



IRuesfa, 



"And oh," she cried, "I am quite warm, and 
the snow feels like a warm bearskin to my foot, 
and my hands are like toast." 

" So are mine," exclaimed Ivan joyfully. " It 
is Jesus, who has answered our prayer. So let 
us kneel and thank Him from the bottom of our 
hearts." 

They knelt on the snow, which gave forth a 
warmth like that of a fire, and thanked God for 
this wonder which He had wrought to preserve 
them in the " hour of need." 

As they passed down the hill, they still found 
the snow warm to their feet and the basket light 
to carry. 

In the first cottage in the valley which they 
entered they found an old woman in bed. She 
was so very, very old that she shivered with 
cold, though there was a large fire burning on 
the hearth. They covered her with a warm 
covering which Gerda had knitted, and she im- 
mediately cried out that she no longer felt the 
cold, and her teeth ceased chattering, and her 
stiffened fingers grew warm and supple. 

The two children passed through the village, 
giving to all who were needy something from 
the basket, and there was not one in want who 
did not receive wherewith to satisfy his wants. 

Lastly, they came to a hut wherein they found 



143 



a little lame boy who had been obliged to lie 
on his back for nine years, and he was only ten 
years old. Gerda gave him the best and nicest 
things from the cook's store, and putting her 
little arms round his neck, kissed him, and im- 
mediately the little lame boy felt the pain in his 
back vanish, and he was able to get up and run 
to meet his mother, w T ho had just returned from 
Mass and Communion, and who had been pray- 
ing to the infant Saviour for her boy. 

The two children, Ivan and Gerda, were taken 
back to the Castle in a sleigh, amid the shouts 
and cries of the villagers, who went with them 
with torches. 

And to this day in the little village of Istrogo- 
laff the fathers and mothers tell their children 
on Christinas Eve the story of the little Prince 
and Princess, who set out with a large basket 
filled with food and clothing on Christmas Eve 
in honor of the infant Jesus, and how they were 
wonderfully helped, and their devotion reward- 
ed by the miraculous cure of the lame boy ; for 
when dear Jesus smiles " Winter himself grows 
warm beneath the glow." 



H>enmarft* 



The Danish boy; or, wrecked among 
the icebergs. 

Delight in the Lord, and He will give thee the requests of 
thy heart.— Ps. xxxvi. 4. 

NCE upon a time — really once upon a 
time, for this is not a fairy story — 
there lived at Nismurak, a little fish- 
ing village in Denmark, a poor fish- 
erman named Christopher Christensen. Now, 
Christopher was very, very poor, and he had 
the greatest difficulty in finding sufficient food 
for his wife and ten children. Moreover, it is, 
as you all know, very cold in Denmark in the 
winter, and the poor children of Christensen were 
ill-clad and ill-fed, and their sufferings were 
very great. In those days, too, there were much 
fewer chances of placing the children in other 
callings than those of their fathers ; the poor, 
especially, had no means of moving about, for 
there were no railways, and in the thinly-. 

*44 




Zbc Banish 3Bog. 



peopled parts of Denmark there were no car- 
riages nor even horses. 

In Nismurak nearly all were fishermen, and 
as they had to walk many miles inland to sell 
the fish they caught, they had much trouble 
and fatigue and very little recompense, so that 
in the winter time, when the season was bad, 
they passed weeks and weeks with nothing bet- 
ter to eat than black bread. 

Christopher was not an unkind man, but at 
times worry and poverty made him short-tem- 
pered, and at these times he was apt to be very 
harsh with his children, especially his third son, 
Erick, a little boy of ten years of age at the 
time of the story we are going to relate. Erick 
was a very good, gentle little boy, and no one 
could imagine why Christopher should be unkind 
to him, for he was the only one of all the ten 
children whose voice was never heard in dis- 
pute, and whose hand was never uplifted to 
strike his brothers and sisters. 

He had been very delicate as a little child, 
and spent most of his time in sitting by the 
seashore with the youngest baby in his arms, 
dreaming of the future and the life to come, 
wishing, hoping, and despairing that the earnest 
desire of his heart might be realized. That 
wish he had never dared name to any one, even 



146 



Denmark, 



to his eldest sister, Margaret, who was kind and 
gentle to little Erick, and who shielded him 
from his father's anger many and many a time, 
when he would otherwise have received a good 
beating. He had never e /en told Father Bene- 
dict, the old priest at the Convent of St. 
Hilda, that he himself longed to be a priest—to 
sing the praises of God night and day, to teach 
others, as he had been taught how sweet it is 
to know and love the Redeemer of man- 
kind. 

Yet the thought was ever present in his mind ; 
never a day passed that he did not get up at four 
o'clock in the morning and run off to the mon- 
astery of the church, where he spent an hour in 
prayer, so fervent and so modest in his de- 
meanor that the monks had already noticed him 
and prayed for him too, that he might be pre- 
served from all the snares and pitfalls of the 
enemy, and remain innocent and childlike unto 
his life's end. 

Great was poor Erick 's consternation, there- 
fore, when one day his father came home from 
Kiiwaod, the neighboring town, with the news 
that he had found a berth for one of the boys, 
and that as the two elder lads were useful to 
him at home, he had resolved, and indeed 
promised, to give up Erick. The child held his 



147 



breath, not daring to speak, but the mother asked 
anxiously what it was. 

" He is going to travel to the Cold Regions," 
answered the father shortly. " I have promised 
him to the captain of a whaler, and if Erick is 
steady and industrious, he will grow rich some 
day, and do good to us all." 

" But," objected the mother, " the child is not 
strong enough. If he be always ailing here, 
what will it be in colder regions, where there 
are ice and snow all the year round, and where 
there is no summer warmth or brightness?" 

" Pooh ! " said Christopher. " It is because you 
cuddle the boy and make a baby of him that he 
is such a weak, girlish creature. Anyhow, I 
have sold him " 

"Ah, unfortunate wretch," cried the mother, 
" for a small sum of money which will soon be 
spent thou hast sold thine own son! Oh, inhu- 
man, unfeeling man, I pray God that He may not 
send thee the dread punishment thou deserv- 
est." 

She broke down and wept bitterly. The chil- 
dren too gathered round her and wept with one 
accord. If they despised Erick on account of 
his weakness and girlishness, they loved him 
dearly for his gentle ways and unselfish habits. 

But this annoyed Christopher all the more, 



148 



Denmark, 



and at last he became so furious that he seized 
Erick by the arm, and beat him till he was sore 
with bruises ; then throwing the child away from 
him so roughly that he fell to the ground, he 
bade him be ready the next day to start for the 
town, as his new master wanted to see him. 

Poor Erick lay down on the heap of seaweed 
covered with rags that served him for a bed, 
but not to sleep. All night long his tears flowed 
silently, as he prayed with quivering lips, " May 
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." 
At three o'clock he arose and went to the church 
to pray, but when he heard the monks singing in 
the choir, and saw Father Benedict, his kind old 
friend, probably for the last time, he could re- 
strain himself no longer and sobbed aloud. He 
was weeping so bitterly that he did not notice 
when Mass was finished, or hear the footsteps 
of the white-robed monk who came up and laid 
his hand on the boy's curly head. 

" Come with me," he said, leading Erick away 
into the sacristy. " Tell me what aileth thee, 
my little friend." 

Erick burst out afresh into sobs and tears, 
but he told his woful tale to the monk, who, 
after a moment's reflection, said: 

" My child, thy father and mother are very 
poor, and thou knowest full well how difficult 



149 



it is for them to feed all their children. Now 
it seemeth that on board the ship thou wilt be 
kindly treated, for the captain is a good man, 
and thus thou wilt be a help unto thy parents, 
who are exceedingly poor. Moreover, thou 
wilt remember the Holy Jesus, who when a child 
was ever most obedient to His Mother and fos- 
ter-father, who worked hard as a poor carpen- 
ter, and who suffered cold, hunger, and even 
exile from His heavenly kingdom. Thou wilt 
keep Him ever before thine eyes, Erick ; thou 
wilt never forget to pray to Him, morning, noon 
and evening, and trust in Him ; and in His own 
good time He shall give thee thine heart's de- 
sire." 

Embracing him tenderly, the good monk hung 
a little crucifix around the child's neck, and sent 
him home much comforted, and even hopeful. 
He had a hard struggle to tear himself away from 
his brothers and sisters, and when his mother 
locked him to her breast in a last, long, tender 
embrace, a sword of sorrow pierced the brave 
little heart through and through. His father 
even was touched by the boy's dumb agony, 
and the way in which the poor little child bit 
his lips and clenched his fists to keep himself 
from bursting forth into an agony of sorrow. 

At last it was all over, and Erick was dragged 



150 



Denmark, 



away by his father into the town and presented 
to the captain of the whaling vessel. He 
seemed a very kind man, and spoke gently and 
encouragingly to the timid boy, patting him on 
the shoulder, and telling him he would one day 
line his pockets with gold, which was a very 
poor consolation to the little broken-hearted boy, 
whose greatest ambition was to become a poor 
monk, with nothing but a coarse habit to call 
his own. 

But he remembered the parting words of 
Father Benedict, and he resolved to be brave and 
dutiful and follow the example of obedience and 
industry left him by his infant Saviour. 

His father left him after an hour or two with 
the captain, who gave him over to one of his 
sailors, and toward evening they set out for the 
port in which the ship was then lying. At first 
Erick found so many new and surprising sights 
that he forgot his homesickness. He had never 
seen a great vessel before, and he ran about 
among the sailors asking questions all day long. 
They found him a very sharp little lad and were 
not unkind to him; true, he received blows 
sometimes when they were impatient, but on 
the whole he was fairly happy — that is, as happy 
as any little boy could be under the circum- 
stances. There were only two of the sailors who 



ttbe 2)ant5b 33oe» 



151 



were unkind to him ; they were rough and bru- 
tal, and aimed blows and kicks at him when- 
ever he got in their way, for there are some 
natures to whom it is an amusement to be 
cruel. 

Erick felt the cold very much, too, as they 
gained the polar regions, but he was well fed 
and better clad than he had ever been before, 
which helped him the better to bear the other 
hardships of his daily life. He never forgot his 
prayers, morning, noon, and night, and often 
during the day lifted his heart unto the Lord, 
who never slumbereth nor sleepeth, but is ever 
mindful of His children. 

At last they arrived among the icebergs, and 
Erick 's delight was great at seeing the glitter- 
ing mountains of ice, glowing with all the colors 
of the rainbow in the sun. Then one day, when 
washing the floors of the cabins below, he heard 
cries of delight on deck, and rushing up he saw 
a little way off the waters heaving, and now 
and then something black appeared, then dis- 
appeared, then rose in another place. It was a 
whale, and as it approached the ship the men 
threw out their harpoons, and the water was 
dyed with its blood. It grew furious, plunged 
about and came very near the ship, and Erick 
gathered from the men's excitement that danger 



152 



Benmarfr, 



was at hand. Suddenly the ship was lifted up and 
fell over on her side, then was heaved up again 
and driven some yards to the right ; there were 
two whales beneath her, both infuriated by the 
wounds they had received. At last the cries of 
the sailors suddenly ceased; they held their 
breath. The bravest hearts among them quailed ; 
their faces were pale and set. 

The ship was being driven against an iceberg, 
and God help them now ! Still she heaved and 
plunged. A sudden shock, the crash of broken 
splinters told them that the ship had struck 
against the iceberg and that all hope of saving 
her was lost. There was a general rush to the 
two small boats, and soon they were full. Those 
left behind on the sinking ship clung to spars. 
Erick remained on deck for a moment ; then see- 
ing an empty cask at the foot of the gangway, 
he decided that he would be safer in that. He 
dragged it on deck, he hardly knew how, got 
into it, and trusting in the mercy of God, he 
knelt and prayed. For a few moments the cask 
remained on the heaving deck; then, as the 
ship gradually sank, it drifted out to the sea. 
Then Erick heard cries of despair, and saw the 
boat overturned and the men struggling in the 
waves, and the whales plunging and diving and 
reappearing, the waves dashing over the sinking 



153 



men, preventing them from swimming in the 
tumult of the waters. 

Not one indeed of those who had taken refuge 
in the boat was saved. When at last the whales 
swam away quietly, and all was still, Erick saw 
two men only of the ship's crew sitting on an 
iceberg, making signs to him. But he was at 
the mercy of the waves, and happily for him 
could not guide his cask in the direction he 
would. Happily for him, for the men would 
have taken his cask away from him to use it for 
themselves, and he would have been left to die 
on the iceberg. 

But the cask floated away, drifted along by 
the wind, for all the creation of God doth His 
bidding, and it was His holy will that Erick 
should not die there. Two days passed, though 
Erick could not measure the time, for there was 
no night in that cold region, but he was grow- 
ing very anxious and desperately hungry and 
thirsty. He was being drifted southward, though 
he did not know it ; and as the time passed by, 
he was approaching the region frequented by 
the English whalers. A fearful pain was gnaw- 
ing at his stomach ; he felt as if he were going 
mad, then a dreadful faintness overpowered 
him — was it death creeping on him? With a 
prayer in his heart, the name of Jesus on his 



154 



2>enmarfc. 



parched lips, he sank down in the cask uncon- 
scious. 

When he came to himself, he was lying on a 
heap of blankets ; two men were rubbing his feet 
and hands; another was pouring something 
down his throat. He had been picked up by an 
English whaler, and had fallen into good hands. 
They were very kind to him through a long ill- 
ness brought on by the fright, cold, and hunger, 
and by degrees he learned to speak a little with 
them, for none of them knew his language. He 
made them understand that he was a Danish 
boy, and that he had been wrecked and all his 
companions lost. 

The captain took a great fancy to him, and 
would have adopted him as his son and been 
very kind to him, but the boy remembered his 
vocation, and only longed to return home and 
beg his father to let him become a priest rather 
than expose him again to such dangers. So he 
was taken back to England, and when an oppor- 
tunity presented itself, shipped back to Den- 
mark, the captain giving him some money as a 
reward for his good behavior while on board 
the ship. And when he arrived at Kiiwaod it 
was Christmas Eve, and every one was prepar- 
ing for the holy festival. A kind woman offered 
Erick to keep him for the night, but in his eager 



tTbe IDantsb $0£, 



155 



haste to see his father and mother he pushed 
on for Nismurak. He was not very strong as 
yet, however, and only managed to arrive at the 
monastery as the bells rang out across the snow 
for the midnight Mass. He entered the church 
and knelt in fervent thanksgiving before the al- 
tar until dawn. When every one had left the 
church he went round to the monastery and 
asked to see Father Benedict. And when he 
had told the story of the wreck to his kind friend, 
he hastened down to the seashore to the little 
cottage, and lifting the latch, entered as the 
father and mother were kissing and blessing 
their children before dinner.* 

They received him as one risen from the dead. 
To these poor unlettered people the time seemed 
very long, and they had had no news of him. 
And he told them of the wreck, and of his being 
rescued from his cask when he was dying of 
starvation, and gave his father the present of 
the English captain. 

And the father, realizing the awful dangers to 
which he had exposed his son, and the compas- 
sion of God in saving him and bringing him 
home again, promised that he should go to sea 
no more. Then Erick knelt before him with 
tears in his eyes, and besought him for the love 

* An old custom in some parts of Denmark. 



156 



SDenmarfc, 



of the dear Saviour, whose birthday they were 
keeping so happily, to let him become a monk. 
The father could no longer refuse, and a few 
days after led the boy to the monastery him- 
self, and gave him to the monks ; and thus by 
waiting patiently upon God, in humility, pa- 
tience, and courage, little Erick obtained his 
heart's desire, and served His Lord and Master 
faithfully on earth until it pleased Him to call 
him into His kingdom. 



Ibungary. 



The King of the precipice. 

For I say to you, that their angels in heaven always see 
the face of My Father, who is in heaven.— Matt, xviii. 10. 



N the Middle Ages, when every man 
almost was born with a love for war- 
fare, and brought up amid the clash 
of trumpets and the noise of arms, 
there were a great many robbers who carried 
on an unlawful warfare on all the peaceful in- 
habitants of the villages and towns around 
their haunts, and perhaps no country more than 
Hungary was infested with these wild men, 
who respected no laws of honor or religion, and 
had one redeeming point only, which was that 
they not only spared the poor, but even behaved 
with charity toward those who were really in 
need. 

One there was of as great renown in Hungary 
as Robin Hood in England. His name was 
Stranowik, He spoke several languages, so 
157 




158 



Ibungarg. 



that no man knew of what country -he was; he 
was tall and strong, and so fierce that his eyes 
were like glowing coals, and the little children 
who had seen him were so frightened that they 
woke up dreaming about him for years after- 
ward. 

Stranowik had one enemy whom he detested 
above all others — the Prince Wenceslas Nor- 
witzka. The Prince was very powerful. He 
had a large band of retainers, and on several 
occasions had taken some of the robbers cap- 
tive and punished them with death, and though 
Stranowik had always escaped with his life, the 
day might come when he too would fall into the 
Prince's power, and he well knew that he would 
be put to death, for he had committed murders 
on travellers, and among others had slain the 
Prince's elder brother. He had taken up his 
abode in a cave on a fearful precipice among 
the mountains, and from there defied the Prince ; 
but the Prince had set a reward on the head of 
the " King of the Precipice," as Stranowik was 
called throughout the country, and it was cer- 
tain that sooner or later there would be a hand- 
to-hand fight, and either the Prince Wenceslas 
or the Robber King would lay down his life in 
a bloody battle. 

The Prince Wenceslas was an excellent main ; 



Gbe Iking of tbe ff>recfpice, 159 



he was rough and fond of battle, but in those 
days it was absolutely necessary that men should 
be trained as soldiers from their very youth up, 
and it was only natural that they should long 
for opportunities to show their prowess. But 
withal Wenceslas was very kind to the poor, and 
never passed a day without hearing Mass. His 
wife, the Princess, was as kind and charitable 
as her husband ; and their two little children, 
Margarita and Ladislas, were brought up entire- 
ly by their mother, and trained to follow in the 
footsteps of Christ the Lord when He was but 
a child. 

Now it happened one wintertime that the 
Prince and Princess were away at Court, and had 
left their two children in the care of an old nurse 
and a young servant who waited on them as a 
nursery-maid waits on children in our days. 
This young servant, though it was not known 
in the castle, was in love with one of the men 
of Stranowik's band, and he pretended to be in 
love with her so that he might gain his own 
selfish ends. 

One day, therefore, this robber persuaded the 
girl to meet him when she was walking out with 
the little Ladislas and Margarita, and while he 
was talking to her and telling her how much he 
loved her, she did not notice how far she was 



160 



Ibungarg. 



walking into the woods and along paths which 
she did not know or remember ever having 
crossed before. Suddenly she bethought her- 
self that the children were wondrously good, 
and turning round to call them she found herself 
in quite an unknown part of the forest, and no 
sign of the children. The wicked robber pre- 
tended to be as surprised as Elisa. He called 
the children, ran about as if he were looking for 
them, and tried to persuade her that they could 
not be far off, or perhaps had strayed away home 
to tease her. And Elisa set off running home, 
weeping and wringing her hands, almost dis- 
traught with fear. No sooner was she at a safe 
distance than the man burst out into a mocking 
laugh. 

" Poor, silly fool," he said, " didst think I cared 
for thine ugly face and great red cheeks? "Fare- 
well, Elisa; find thyself another sweetheart, fori 
am thine no more." 

He walked off quickly, and was joined by an- 
other man dragging after him the two poor chil- 
dren, whom he had seized and gagged. They 
were crying bitterly, but the cruel men only 
laughed, for this was a long-meditated plan. 
The robbers were delighted, for they knew they 
would receive a large reward from their chief 
when they brought before him the children of 



Gbe Iking of the precipice* 161 



his bitterest foe. Such indeed was the case ; but 
he, for some reason or other, would not let the 
men kill them at once and take their lifeless 
bodies down to the Castle. 

" No," he said, " we will keep them in our cave 
for a week or two, and then send their heads 
down to the Prince for his Christmas present. 
He who always pretends to be so generous to 
the poor on Christmas Day shall receive a price- 
less gift himself." 

The robbers laughed at his cruel words, 
while the two poor children stood white and 
shaking with fear before him, not daring to 
move. 

The children were left to play about the cave 
as they liked, for, as the Robber King said, they 
would never be able to climb down the precipice 
by themselves, and thus they were quite safe. 
Some of the men objected and would have had 
them chained up, but Stranowik said no, it 
was useless, and they had done nothing to be 
punished for. He would have spared them had 
it not been for their father. 

Two or three days passed by ; the children sat 
crying all day long. They were afraid to speak 
to each other, except now and then in whispers 
when they thought nobody was looking at them, 
and every time one of the robbers approached 
ii 



162 



them they started in terror, thinking that their 
throats were to be cut. 

Meanwhile there was the greatest confusion 
and panic in the castle. The Prince and Prin- 
cess were expected to arrive home on Christmas 
Eve, and no trace of the children had been dis- 
covered. The old nurse had kept Elisa locked 
up so that she might answer herself to the Prince 
and Princess for the carelessness which had cost 
them so dear. Every hole and corner of the 
castle had been searched ; scouts were out in all 
directions day and night; but Christmas Eve 
was drawing near, and there was as yet no hope 
of finding the children. 

And the children themselves — Christmas Eve 
had come ; they heard the robbers talking to one 
another, and they knew that their last hour was 
at hand. The next morning — yes, the next 
morning — their heads were to be cut off and 
sent down to their father, that when he came 
out from Mass on Christmas Day he might see 
the heads of his two dearly loved children on 
the steps of the porch, and know how terrible is 
the revenge of the King of the Precipice. 
They were left alone all the daytime, for 
the robbers had a very important raid to 
make on a neighboring village; and all day 
long they prayed and tried to comfort each 



Zbc 1k\ng of the precipice- 163 



other. If they only dared to descend the 
precipice ! 

" But no," said Ladislas, lying face downward 
and peeping over the edge of the rock, " we may 
as well stay and be killed, for we could never, 
never climb down there." 

"Oh, Ladislas," sobbed the little girl, "only 
let us try. Let us pray to the dear angels who 
watch over us night and day, and perhaps they 
will help us. Oh, father; mother, mother; oh, 
Jesus, once a little child, by Thy love for Thine 
own dear Mother, help us!" 

" Shall we try?" said Ladislas, after a few mo- 
ments' prayer. 

"Yes, yes," cried Margarita, "try anything 
rather than have our throats cut." 

" Then let us kneel down first," said Ladislas, 
" and say our prayers, and then I will go first 
and help you as much as I can, darling." 

They knelt side by side and prayed. Together 
they said the Lord's Prayer, and as they said 
" Our Father " a ray of hope entered their hearts 
and gave them courage. 

But as they rose from their knees they heard 
voices behind them, and turning, saw the rob- 
bers come out of the long cave which stretched 
the children knew not how far. The robbers 
were laden with booty. They had been sacking 



164 



a wine merchant's cellar and brought home wine 
and spirits enough to supply a garrison for a 
month. The children shrank away into a corner 
with fear; they had never seen the cruel men 
so excited before. They had already been drink- 
ing, and they shouted, sang, cursed, and even 
danced like madmen. The children crouched 
behind a bush, but they saw that all hope of es- 
cape was over. 

So they knelt, clasped in each other's arms, 
speechless with terror, each silently praying as 
their mother had taught them to do in the hour of 
danger, and wondering if their souls would wing 
their flight to heaven together, that they might 
together enter Paradise and appear before the 
throne of God. Then they heard the men dis- 
puting about them ; some wished to drag them 
out of their hiding-place and kill them that very 
night while their "spirits were up," they said; 
others preferred to wait till the next day to see 
their blood flowing in the bright sunlight ; others 
would have wreaked their vengeance on the 
Prince by killing his two children before his 
very eyes; but the King bade them all be silent 
and wait until the morrow 7 , when he would give 
his orders with regard to his prisoners. So they 
continued their wild carouse, and in several 
hours most of them were lying on the ground 



Cbe Iking ot tbe precipice. 165 



senseless, and few were able to stand up- 
right. 

Now, every night two men watched by a fire, 
partly on account of the children and partly 
because often there were parties sent out at 
night to steal or murder, and this night it was 
so cold that they made a tremendous fire which 
burned brightly, it being a clear frosty night. 
When all the robbers were asleep but the guard, 
the children crept out of their hiding-place and 
looked around. The two men on guard were 
very drunk. They were trying to talk to each 
other, but could not make themselves understood. 
In the cavern the others were lying on the ground 
snoring. If it were not for the darkness they 
could have attempted their escape. But Lad- 
islas, looking over the precipice, could see 
nothing but black darkness beneath. 

" What shall we do? " he whispered to his little 
sister, who was trembling with cold. 

" Let us pray to the dear Jesus. He is so kind 
and we are consecrated to Him. Oh, Ladislas, 
let us try ; let us at least try. If we stay, we are 
sure "to be killed by those horrid men ; but if we 
go down the precipice, perhaps with the help of 
the dear Jesus we shall escape." 

" Come, then," said Ladislas, with set face and 
beating heart. "One 'Our Father' first; oh, 



166 



pray, Margarita, for you must be His favorite ; 
you are a much better child than I." 

"Just one kiss," said little Margarita, "one 
good-by, in case we never speak to each other 
again. Dear little brother " 

Neither of them could speak; they clasped 
each other in an agony of love and fear; then 
they advanced to the border of the precipice and 
Ladislas cautiously put over one foot, then the 
other, then took Margarita's hand, and so they 
began their descent. 

They scrambled, they hardly knew how, down 
a little way, and then they heard the Robber 
King speaking to the guard. At the sound of 
his voice Margarita started, and very nearly lost 
her footing. Ladislas, however, helped her; 
they listened and heard that the King was ask- 
ing for them. The soldiers seemed to grope 
about, and then they heard a loud shout. One 
of the robbers had fallen into the fire, and his 
clothes having been saturated with brandy spilt 
while drinking, he was in one moment a mass 
of flames. 

The flames burned more fiercely, and lit up 
the sides of the steep rock, so that the King, so- 
bered by the fearful accident, looking over, saw 
the children descending. They were too far 
down for him to seize them, but he began to 



ZTbe 1kim of tbe iDredpice, 167 



clamber down too, thinking what two weak chil- 
dren could accomplish was no difficult matter 
for him. But he missed his footing, and with 
a cry of despair and anger fell down — down into 
the darkness, so far that they could not hear his 
body strike the hard ground at the bottom of the 
precipice. 

The children were terrified. 

" O Jesus," cried the little Margarita, "we 
are lost if Thou dost not help us now. Dear 
God, we love Thee, we are Thine own children. 
Help us." 

"Margarita," said Ladislas, " I feel some one 
holding my hands and my feet." 

" So do I," answered the little girl, " but there 
is no one there. It must be the angels of God, 
whom He has sent to protect us." 

All the way down the angels guided their feet 
and hands ; their feet were placed in the holes 
in the rock, their hands found the juttings out 
of the stone, and at last they safely reached the 
bottom, and were once more on the firm ground. 

They lost no time now in running home to the 
Castle, which they reached about two o'clock in 
the morning. The Prince and Princess had ar- 
rived, and the Prince was calling out all his re- 
tainers to lead them out to fight against the 
Robber King. But when they heard the bell of 



168 



Ibungarg. 



the Castle portcullis peal through the court, 
every bow was drawn and every eye bent in 
eager expectation toward the portcullis, for one 
thought prevailed, that the Robber King had 
come to defy the Prince, or ask for a ransom. 

The guard lifted the portcullis, for he saw the 
two little children, and loud shouts of joy arose 
from every side. The Princess, who was anx- 
iously looking out of a turret window, fainted 
with emotion, and the Prince seized both his 
children at once in his arms, and pressed them 
to his mail-clad breast till they cried aloud. 

Thus they spent a happy Christmas Day of 
thanksgiving. When the children had told their 
story, they thanked the dear Lord who had 
brought them safely home, sending His holy 
angels to guide their footsteps, and preserving 
them from their enemies, for the Lord's arm is 
not shortened that it cannot save, nor His ear 
deafened that He cannot hear; and if we do but 
trust in Him, we shall never be confounded. 



mm 




The crusader. 

The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, He will 
save ; He will rejoice over thee with gladness; He will be si- 
lent in His love; He will be joyful over thee in praise.— Soph. 
Hi. 17. 

OU all know how in the eleventh cen- 
tury, when Jerusalem was in the 
hands of the infidels, and the holy 
places defiled, the voice of Peter 
the Hermit rang throughout Christendom, and 
how from their peaceful farmsteads in Eng- 
land, the sunny slopes of Italy, the vineyards 
of France and Spain, the forest-grown moun- 
tains of Germany, noble and peasant, king 
and serf, rose with one accord in answer to the 
call. 

You know further how Richard Cceur de 
Lion became the terror of the very children 
of the Mohammedans, and how he and brave 
St. Louis of France esteemed illness, sufferings, 
169 




170 



©ID England 



and privations of all kinds as nothing, that 
they might win from the enemies of Chris- 
tianity the places hallowed by the footsteps and 
sufferings of Christ. 

Now, in the reign of Richard Cceur<de Lion, 
there lived in his castle in the moorlands of 
Yorkshire a very powerful lord, Robert of Ken- 
eathstone. He owned the broad lands from 
Wyeth side to the foot of the Elwer Crag, and 
in time of war could muster five thousand 
retainers under his banner. Naturally, when 
Richard Cceur de Lion was on the point of depart- 
ing for the Holy Land, he looked for aid from 
all his barons, and we know how eagerly and 
generously they answered to his call. But Rob- 
ert Lord Keneathstone was very ill and unable 
to stir from his bed ; and he had only two sons, 
the eldest of whom, Wilfred, had not yet com- 
pleted his twelfth year, and was moreover very 
slightly built and delicate in health. 

What was to be done? Robert of Keneathstone 
could not suffer that men should say there was 
none of his name to lead out his retainers and 
fight for the cause of Jesus Christ, and yet he 
could not move ; and Wilfred was reduced to a 
shadow by a violent cough which threatened at 
times to be his end. Robert stormed and swore, 
and the Lady Margaret, his wife, prayed day 



Zbc Cruaafcer, 



171 



and night, but the malady grew rather worse 
than better, and it was evident would chain him 
to his couch for many a weary day. 

At last Wilfred vowed that he himself would 
go; and though his mother wept and entreated 
him on her knees, and his father derided him 
and called him a girl, he persisted in his resolu- 
tion, and finally his father, seeing that the lad 
was really in earnest, gave his consent. 

He could hardly tear himself away from his 
weeping mother when the last day came, and 
he buckled on his armor, and proudly donned 
his helmet and the shield with the coat-of-arms 
of the Keneathstones and the motto " Loyal unto 
the end." 

"See, gentle mother," he said, leading her, 
or rather supporting her, into the little chapel of 
the Nativity, in the castle, " here will I hang my 
shield and my helmet on my return, in honor 
of the infant Saviour and His Mother, whose 
soldier I am." 

" Here I will come every day to pray for thee, 
my son. O my son, would I could go out to shield 
thee from dangers : to die for thee, if need be, 
O my son." 

" Nay, gentle mother," said the boy, " fret not 
for thine unworthy son. If it please the Lord 
that I pass from His army on earth to the host 



172 



®lb ^England. 



of glorious conquerors in heaven, thou hast still 
thine Alfred left to comfort thee and to sustain 
the glory of our house." 

With a long, tender embrace, he tore himself 
away, received his father's blessing, and rode 
out at the head of his brave soldiers. 

The journey passed all too slowly for the brave 
boy, impetuous and eager for the sound of bat- 
tle; but at length they arrived at Joppe, disem- 
barked, and joined Coeur de Lion's army at 
Ahmed-niven-Kira, and Wilfred's desire was re- 
alized, for a bloody skirmish took place between 
the Christians and the infidels, and Wilfred, in 
defending a wounded soldier from the cruel foe, 
was taken prisoner. 

He was carried away by the enemies to a 
stronghold at a long distance from Ahmed-niven- 
Kira, and was imprisoned in a little narrow room, 
with hardly any light, in the castle. A soldier 
came to bring him his food, but Wilfred could 
hardly eat; he was very ill, and never thought 
to see his home and his mother any more. Still 
every day he prayed as his mother had bid him 
do, morning, noon, and night; and sometimes 
when he thought how she too was praying for 
her son, he hoped against hope, and dreamed of 
the happy days when he would clasp her in his 
arms and kneel with her in the little chapel to 



Gbe Crusafcer. 



173 



give thanks to God and Our Lady for his safe 
return. 

But as the days went by he counted this as 
an idle dream, and resigned himself peacefully 
and even happily to die ; for his cough was more 
and more violent every day ; he could hardly 
stand upright, and his bones seemed starting 
through his skin, so emaciated had he become. 

One day, as he was kneeling in a corner of the 
room praying for resignation and patience even 
unto the end, the door was opened and a strange 
man entered with his food. He stood looking 
at the boy, and saw him make the sign of the 
Cross ere he began to eat. 

Then he came close to him and whispered : 

" Listen, boy, I am a Christian ; I spent a long 
time in the English camp as a prisoner, and 
there I learned the true religion. Xow, for the 
sake of Jesus Christ, I will save you. To-night, 
therefore, I shall come and let you out, and you 
must fly, that you may be leagues hence ere the 
morning." 

He left Wilfred alone as he heard the chief 
calling for him. The poor boy thought to him- 
self that he would never be able to get away 
with his racking cough and extreme weakness, 
but he knelt and prayed until eventime. 

Hope beats bigh in the breast of youth, and 



174 



when at nightfall his deliverer came and led 
him down the steps to a doorway, and slip- 
ping some money into Wilfred's hand, urged 
him to fly for dear life, the boy sped on, and 
praying fervently, he felt a supernatural strength 
enabling him to fly in the direction the man had 
pointed out. For three nights and days he 
pursued his course to the east, and on the fourth 
day arrived at a port in the possession of the 
French crusaders. For two months he lay al- 
most at death's door in the house of the Count 
Simon de la Rochefoucauld, and at last God 
heard his prayers, and he recovered sufficiently 
to be able to embark on a vessel starting for 
France with all the sick and wounded. 

Eight long months from the day he left his 
father's home he arrived once more before the 
castle gate, and entered the chapel as High 
Mass was being sung on Christmas Day in the 
morning. And after Mass the Te Deum w r as 
chanted, while he hung shield and sword before 
the altar of Our Lady ; and he- grew stronger 
and more manly, and did many brave and noble 
deeds before he too slept with his fathers and left 
to his children the glory of an unsullied name. 



(SermattE. 



the bell of the mountain chapel. 

He hath given His angels charge over thee, to keep thee 
in all thy ways. — Ps. xc. it. 

BOUT a hundred years ago there 
lived in the mountains of Germany 
a poor widow with one little daugh- 
ter named Gretchen. Their tiny 
cottage was half-way up a very steep mountain, 
one of a wide range covered with dark fir and 
pine trees, through which could be seen every 
now and then a bright silver-gleaming cas- 
cade or flashing streamlet hurrying down to 
greet the starry flowers that spangled the green 
meadows in the valley below. 

It was a very pretty spot, but very lonely ; the 
cottage was so far above the little village of 
Goblinsfeld that they had no visitors except the 
priest and a man from Halberthal (the town on 
the other side of the mountains) who came out 
with supplies of provisions and stuffs. 

Once a week Gretchen and her mother went 
175 




176 



(SermaitE. 



down to the little chapel of the Holy Angels; 
and in very fine weather Gretchen went down 
to Father Bruno's little school. 

Gretchen's father died when she was a little 
baby. He was a forester, gay and light-hearted, 
upright and true. One day in the cold winter- 
time he went off to his work, whistling, " Good 
King Wenceslas," for that old friend of ours 
was a German, and looking back every now and 
then to see the last of his wife, who stood at the 
cottage door, watching him until he disappeared 
among the trees. 

In the afternoon the wind began to howl dis- 
mally; about four o'clock large snowflakes fell 
thickly ; in two hours the ground was white with 
snow. The young wife looked anxiously for her 
husband Gotthelf, going to the door and peering 
out into the deepening twilight, until at last the 
snow was so deep that it reached up to the win- 
dow-sill, and, as she opened the door, fell in 
great lumps into the kitchen, where it melted 
and flooded the stone flags and made the snug 
little cottage feel damp and cold. 

It was quite dark at last, and the mother's 
tears fell fast as she rocked the little baby's cra- 
dle and tried to sing. 

All night long she sat by the fireside, singing, 
rocking, and praying, listening for the sounds of 



Zbc JSell of tbe /Ifcountaln CbapeL 



177 



footsteps that never came. Suddenly, the next 
day, the snow that darkened the window was 
cleared away, and some one tapped on the glass. 
She hastened to open the door, her heart beat- 
ing- wildly. There stood, not her Gotthelf, but 
Father Bruno, and one or two villagers, who 
had dug out a passage to her little cottage and 
brought her some food. 

Father Bruno tried to comfort her, and the 
men promised faithfully to seek for Gotthelf 
with the dogs. 

A few days went by slowly and wearily ; on 
Christmas Day the mother took her little baby 
down to the valley, for the sun was shining 
brightly and the snow was rapidly thawing. 
After Mass, Father Bruno followed her into the 
porch of the little chapel and told her with such 
words of comfort as he knew would reach her 
heart that Gotthelf had been found frozen to 
death up in the mountain. 

At first her heart seemed broken, but she 
made a great effort to rouse herself from her 
grief for her child's sake, and soon a look of 
peace and calm happiness on her face, like the 
sun at eventide in summer, told of the peace in 
her heart. 

Gretchen grew up a sweet, pretty little girl 
with the brightest forget-me-not blue eyes and 



178 



blush-rose face, round which clustered thick curls 
of ruddy gold. She was very gentle and affec- 
tionate, so that all the village children loved 
her. Especially did Hans, the miller's hand- 
some son, so tall for his fifteen years that to the 
other children he seemed almost a man. 

" When thou growest up, dearest, I will marry 
thee," he would say tenderly, as he offered 
Gretchen the first flowers of spring or the first 
wild strawberries of summer in a little rush bas- 
ket woven by himself. 

"But thou art so old, Hans," answered the 
maiden, looking up shyly into the boy's face. 

" Only five years older than thou art. I can 
wait for thee, for I love thee as the swallow 
loves summer. He follows her to distant lands 
as I would follow thee all over the world." 

"But thou hast no wings, my Hans," would 
reply the coy little maiden. But she believed 
him for all that, and loved him very dearly, and 
he guessed it too. 

One winter, when Gretchen was about twelve 
years old, there were even more snowstorms 
than usual. It was very dangerous then to go 
up the mountain side, for the wind blew the snow 
into holes many feet deep and drifted it into 
piles much higher than a very high house. 

Toward Christmastide Gretchen's mother fell 



Zhc Well of tbe Aountatn CbapeL 179 



ill. She had burning pains all over, and her 
head ached. She went to bed, and the doc- 
tor said she had taken violent cold. Soon she 
became unconscious, and Gretchen had to feed 
her, like a little baby, with spoonfuls of broth 
and milk. 

More and more snow fell ; on Christmas Eve 
it was so deep that Gretchen felt afraid to go 
down into the village to ask some one to come 
and help her watch her mother, who seemed to 
be getting worse and worse. She gave her med- 
icine at the regular times, and fed her with soup 
as the doctor had told her. But the sick woman 
did not improve, and at last the little girl feared 
she would die. She knelt down and begged 
the infant Jesus to help her, while the tears 
streamed down her cheeks, and her poor little 
heart beat wildly with dread and anguish, for 
she could hardly hear her mother breathing 
even when she bent her head quite low over 
the bed. 

As she prayed, it seemed to her as if she heard 
the sound of a church bell ringing, and then a 
sudden thought flashed into her mind. 

On the top of the mountain was a little ruined 
chapel dedicated to the infant Jesus. It had 
been built in the fourteenth century in thanks- 
giving by a rich baron, whose only son was sud- 



180 



<3ermait£. 



denly cured on Christmas Eve from a dangerous 
illness. 

It was said that whoever went up to the little 
chapel on Christmas Eve and rang the bell as 
the clock struck twelve, would obtain the answer 
to any prayer he might offer at the same time. 
No one dared go, because in the three hundred 
years that had passed by since the chapel was 
built landslides and avalanches had broken away 
great fragments of rock, and the little path that 
used to lead up to the chapel had quite disap- 
peared. 

Gretchen knew all this, but she remembered 
what she had heard Father Bruno tell the chil- 
dren about the guardian angels. 

" He hath given His angels charge over thee 
to keep thee in all thy ways; in their hands 
they shall bear thee up lest thou dash thy foot 
against a stone." 

She looked at the little cuckoo clock. At that 
moment the little door flew open, and out flew 
the cuckoo. Each of the ten times that he 
cuckooed Gretchen thought he said : " Go !" 

"Yes, I will go," she cried; and with a last 
shake of her mother's pillow and a kiss, which 
might be the very last she would ever give her, 
the little girl put on her hood, her wooden shoes, 
and her cloak, and started. 



tXbe JBell of tbe /Ifcountatn Cbapel. 181 



When she opened the door her heart quailed ; 
she felt sick and faint with fear. The snow was 
falling, the wind howling; and that loud, distinct 
howl in the distance — is that the wind? Ah, no ! 
There it is again ! This time there is no doubt 
about it, it is a wolf — and how hungry he must 
be this cold night ! 

" The Good Shepherd does not run away when 
the wolf comes." Gretchen looked round. She 
thought some one had spoken to her ; but there 
was no one there. She closed the door behind 
her and started off alone on that fearful night. 
In a very few minutes she was wet through and 
through, and the drenched garments clung about 
her so heavily and the snowflakes fell so fast in 
her eyes that every step was a painful effort. 
Ah, she is sinking now! 

" Oh, mother !" she cried, for she thought she 
was falling down a precipice, " who will take 
care of thee now?" 

But it was only the edge of a deep snowdrift 
into which she had fallen, and after long and 
violent struggles she extricated herself and be- 
gan her ascent again. Once she turned to look 
whether she could see the lights in the valley 
again, for it had left off snowing. 

Oh, God, what are those two glittering eyes 
coming nearer and nearer every second? A wolf 



182 



Germane. 



is upon her; she hears his deep breathing! It 
is all over now — she cannot escape. Uncon- 
sciously she falls on her knees, for she cannot go 
forward. 

" Angel of God, my guardian dear!" 

A loud howl of the hungry beast about to seize 
his prey ; the sound of falling stones almost be- 
neath her, and then all is still. She opens her 
eyes : the glittering coals are no longer there. 
In a moment the truth flashes upon her ; the 
wolf has fallen down a precipice. She stretches 
out her hand fearfully — yes, another step, 
only one little step, when she fell on her 
knees, and she would have met with a terrible 
death. 

With one deep cry of -gratitude to the Lord 
who gives His angels charge concerning His 
children, she rose and continued her toilsome 
ascent. She was now getting so faint and tired 
she began to despair of ever reaching the top 
of the mountain. She heard the clock strike 
eleven ; she had gone such a little way, and the 
chapel was so far above her. On and on she 
toiled, every now and then slipping back, some- 
times falling and bruising herself, nearly faint- 
ing with cold, weariness, and pain. 

At last, after nearly an hour's almost super- 
human effort, she reached the very top of the 



XLhe $elt of tbe /Ifoountant Gbapel 183 



mountain. As the clock in the valley chimed 
the first stroke of twelve she stood before the 
porch of the chapel. Two — oh, where was the 
cord to ring the little bell? Three — four — she 
must climb the staircase of the tower ! Five — 
six — after the first few steps it is all broken 
away ! Seven — eight — nine — ten — all her labors 
are thrown away! She cannot climb by the 
broken walls of the tower; there is not a crevice 
for her feet — the tower is the only part of the 
little chapel that has firmly resisted the ravages 
of time. 

Eleven — above her piteous cry of distress 
she hears a sweet musical chiming just above ; 
she looks up, as the moon shines out between 
the passing clouds, and sees the little bell 
moving. 

" It is God," she cries, " God who rang the 
bell! Oh, I will love Thee, my God, and be 
Thy faithful child all my life." 

She began to go down, and for a little while 
the joy that filled her heart seemed to lend her 
wings. But her strength had been tried too 
long: half-way down the mountain, she sank 
fainting on a heap of snow. 

When she came to herself again, she was lying 
on a bed by the fire in her mother's cottage, 
and she cduld hardly believe her eyes — her 



184 



©ermang. 



mother was rubbing her hands and feet while 
Hans was spreading the snow-white covered 
table with coffee, cakes, and butter. Hans' 
big dog was lying asleep in front of the ruddy 
fire. 

"Mother, darling little mother," cried Gret- 
chen, " you were so ill when I went out — are 
you cured?" 

" Yes, darling, God bless you," answered her 
mother, with tears in her eyes. " But you must 
eat and drink, first of all." 

They all sat down to breakfast, for it was 
nearly eight o'clock on Christmas morning. 
Only every few minutes Gretchen's mother got 
up to kiss her little girl, and then Hans must 
needs follow her example, and what with kiss- 
ing and praising her and thanking God, the 
breakfast went on very slowly. 

At last they had finished; and as they sat 
round the fire, Gretchen on her mother's knee, 
Hans close by holding her hand, the mother told 
her child : 

" Last night I became conscious and I called 
you, but you did not answer. I was frightened, 
I can tell you. Then I heard the door open, and 
I called you again. To my great surprise, Hans 
walked in with a tremendous basket — how he 
carried it up the mountain I cannot tell; his 



tLbc JBell of tbe Mountain CbapeL 185 



kind, brave heart must have helped him. He 
said he had brought some things for Christmas 
Day, as we should not be able to fetch them, and 
must be in need of food. I told him about you, 
and off he started at once to look for you; we 
guessed where you had gone, and we knew brave 
old Prinz would find you. When the clock struck 
twelve, I heard the little bell ringing quite 
plainly, and I at once felt quite strong and well. 
About two o'clock Hans brought you in so cold 
and wet, my sweet, brave darling." 

" Dear Hans," said the little girl, putting her 
arms round his neck, while the brave fellow's 
tears fell on the golden curls. He had been so 
near losing the darling of his heart. 

" But, mother, it wasn't Gretchen that rang 
the bell. The steps were all broken away, and 
I could not climb; and then God let the bell 
ring." 

She told them about the wolf, and their hearts 
were full of gratitude. They felt as if they 
could bear no more, and without speaking, they 
thanked the guardian angel for having kept 
their darling safe. 

" This is the happiest Christmas Day I have 
ever known," said Hans, as the mother promised 
to betroth her Gretchen to him when they were 
a little older; " may we have many more." 



186 



Germany. 



They did spend many more happy Christmas 
Days together. Hans and Gretchen were mar- 
ried on a Christmas Day, and they lived to see 
their children's children, and to tell them over 
and over again a story of which they never tired, 
the story of " The Bell of the Mountain Chapel." 




IRorwap, 



ST. GUENELPH'S FIORD. 

When thou shalt pass through the waters, I will be with 
thee, and the rivers shall not cover thee.— Is. xliii. 2. 

I. 

NCE upon a time — that is to say, five 
hundred years ago — there lived in a 
little village on the northwestern 
coast of Norway a little boy called 
Christopher. 

His father was a fisherman, and lived in a lit- 
tle wooden hut close to the seashore. The coast 
all round was very rocky and full of dangers 
for the fishers ; only those born and brought up 
in the district could venture out on the stormy 
sea in winter, and many lives were lost each 
year. 

The people are of rugged character and sim- 
ple life. They are brought up from the cradle to 
endure every hardship without murmuring; 
cold, hunger, fatigue, and labor are their daily 
187 




188 



portion. They are a hardy race: indeed the 
delicate ones die in early youth, unable to resist 
longer the severe climate and coarse, scanty 

food. 

The faith had been brought to the district, 
they said, in the seventh century. An English 
priest had been obliged to fly from his own 
country in a boat which was drifted on to the 
shore just below the cottage where Christopher 
lived. 

Out at sea a high-pointed rock, which rose 
- sharply from a group of low, sea-covered rocky 
ledges, was called St. Guenelph's Rock, because 
the priest's boat had struck against them and 
split in two, almost from one end to the other, 
and yet the sea had not entered the boat until it 
was within twenty yards of the beach, and the 
* priest had been able to wade through the water 
to the shore. 

Christopher's mother was dead, and he had 
been brought up by his old grandmother, who 
lived with his father. She was getting very old 
now: her face was like a withered apple, and 
she could not see very well, so that Christopher 
had always been left at home to help her, while 
his eldest brother went to sea with the father. 

He was very gentle, almost like a girl, and of 
the greatest comfort to his grandmother. The 



St <3uenelpb'9 giovb. 189 



priest taught him to read, which was very unu- 
sual in those days; and Christopher, who was 
a very apt scholar, liked nothing better than 
sitting with his grandmother on the summer 
evenings outside the cottage door reading the 
Gospel while the old woman knitted. 

" Look, grandmother," he cried, running home 
one September evening, when the cold weather 
had not yet set in, and the red sun was shin- 
ing in a golden glory far out on the horizon. 
" Come out on the cliff, and I will read you a 
new book that Father Benedict has written out 
and illuminated; it is written by St. John, and 
it tells all about heaven." 

He showed her the little parchment volume 
of black crabbed letters, surrounded by clusters 
of gold leaves and red and blue flowers, among 
which nestled many-hued birds and strange 
beasts, illuminated by the monk in his spare 
moments. 

" It will doubtless be very beautiful," said the 
old woman. " Let us go on to the cliff, and per- 
chance we shall see thy father coming home." 

Lying flat on his back on the heather, Christo- 
pher read to his grandmother the last chapters 
of the record of St. John the Divine, the descrip- 
tion of the beauty and happiness of the life to 
come. 



190 



" And there was no more sea," he read. 
Then looking up quickly, he said, " Grandmoth- 
er, I don't think I should like heaven without 
the sea. Look how lovely it is now ! " 

Below them the green sea stretched out to the 
horizon, spangled here and there with the golden 
light of sunset, flecked with the snowy crests 
of the merry, lapping waves, gently splashing in 
the still, soft air. 

"I have lived long," answered the grand- 
mother, " and have seen those gentle waves 
leaping and foaming round a frail little bark. I 
have seen them rise with cruel roar and swal- 
low it. Ah, child, I love those words! They 
are music to mine ears : ' and there was no more 
sea. ' " 

"Is it so cruel?" said the boy. "Yet I have 
seen storms too, but never a wreck ; for if the 
boats be seaworthy and the men strong and 
brave, the waves do but rock them, as it were, 
in a cradle, or swing them, as I love to be swung, 
in the bough of a tree." 

" Ah, child," returned the grandmother, " how 
little thou knowest why a strong, large ship 
cannot always withstand the cruel waves. I 
have seen many a one founder on St. Guenelph's 
Rock after resisting for hours. But this is sad 
talk for you." 



St. <3uenelpb's aflorD. 191 



"Nay, grandmother; I am growing up now. 
I shall soon be a man, and I know so little ex- 
cept what the monks have taught me. Tell me 
about the wreck." 

"The night you were born," said the grand- 
mother, " on Christmas Eve, it snowed all day, 
and the cold north wind blew so that on the 
cliff here I could not stand. No one had been 
out in the boats for a week or more because of 
the rough wind. About midnight the men who 
were going to church for the midnight Mass saw 
the lights of a ship, and soon descried amid the 
snow the dark form of a large vessel. The 
bravest, among whom was your father, put out 
to sea, but they were not able to save a single 
soul ; the next morning they found the bodies 
and much stuff washed ashore. Your mother, 
who was dying, heard of the wreck, and she 
begged Father Benedict to baptize you Christo- 
pher, saying she was sure you would one day 
deserve the name." 

" What does it mean then, grandmother^ " 

" Christ-bearer. St. Christopher served God 
by carrying people over the ferry of a river, for 
he was stronger than any mortal man, and once 
he had the honor of bearing the holy Child 
Jesus over the ferry one stormy night, when he 
thought it impossible to cross the river. They 



192 



who are named Christopher must bear the Lord 
Jesus in their hearts always." 

" I wish I could see the infant Jesus," said the 
boy. " Do you think if I found a deep river, and 
went and stayed there, He would come and ask 
me?" 

" Nay, child," answered the grandmother; 
" St. Christopher had made up his mind to serve 
the most powerful master, and after serving the 
world and the devil he heard that Jesus was 
the Lord of lords and King of kings. Then he 
asked an old hermit how he could find Jesus to 
serve Him, and the man of God told him that we 
serve Jesus by serving the poor and the weak." 

" I will serve the weak, "said Christopher. " I 
will sweep old Jansen's cottage for him every 
day, if you will let me, when I have done all I can 
for you. I will do more when I am a man. I will 
go out and find poor and sick people to serve." 

" God wishes us to help those who lie across 
our path, and very few He calls to go out and 
seek fresh difficulties; but He will make His 
way known unto you, I doubt not." 

II. 

Some weeks passed away, and Christopher 
had read the words of St. John so often to his 
grandmother that they both knew them by heart. 



St <3uenelpb'0 jFforfc, 193 



They had since read the Gospel of St, Matthew, 
and Christopher had learned that " inasmuch as 
ye do it unto the least of these My brethren, ye 
do it unto Me." 

He often lay on the heather on the cliff and 
thought about St. Christopher and the Holy 
Child, and still more about heaven, where there 
shall be no more sea. For he had been brought 
up by his father to love the sea, and to think of 
it as a friend, yielding, as it did, the means of 
livelihood to his father and the fishermen of the 
hamlet. 

He longed more than ever to be like his name- 
sake, and it seemed to him that helping his grand- 
mother and old Jansen, who was getting quite 
blind, was not worth counting as a little work for 
Jesus. 

When Christmas Eve came, he spent all the 
day in prayer in the little chapel of the monas- 
tery. His desire grew so that his heart swelled 
until he could hardly contain himself. 

In the afternoon he made the little hut very 
tidy, and then went to read to old Jansen, who was 
very dull and lonely now that he could not see. 

" How the wind howls," said the old man, as 
twilight stole over land and sea. " Do you hear 
how it moans outside the hut? It reminds me 
of the night when you were born." 
13 



194 



" And it is beginning to snow, too," said Chris- 
topher, peeping out of the door. 

"It will be a rough night," said Jansen, 
shaking his head with foreboding gloom. " May 
God keep all who are out on the deep to- 
night ! " 

" Tell me, Jansen, did you see the wreck on 
the night I was born?" 

" I was out that night. I had been in my boat 
to Engelfiord, and was coming home to keep 
Christmas after having been a week away. I 
got my boat into a fiord and managed to scram- 
ble onto a rock when the storm began, and there 
I stayed all night, the waves dashing almost 
over my head even on that high rock. I saw 
the lights of the ship out at sea, but I could not 
give her warning. Indeed, I think she must have 
been wrecked anyhow, for the wind just tossed 
her about like a toy. In the morning the storm 
gave way to a calm, and I made my way home. 
All the beach was strewn with timbers and splin- 
ters from the ship, and her cargo and passengers 
were washed ashore for days afterward. That 
is why they light up St. Guenelph's Rock on 
stormy nights, and particularly on Christmas 
Eve, because it was upon that holy eve that the 
saint was driven against it." 

" He was brought safely to land, though," said 



St Guenelpb's jftorD. 195 



Christopher. " 1 wish I could go out and help 
the poor people who are wrecked."' 

" Wait until you are a man," answered Jansen. 
" You have no strength as yet for such work, 
but have to take care of your grandmother, and 
are good enough to help me, which is quite as 
noble in God's sight as going out on the stormy 
ocean, and, in fact, needs more patience." 

"Oh, no, Jansen/' protested the boy. "It is 
my greatest pleasure to be with grandmother 
and you. You never scold me, and tell me such 
beautiful stories." 

" Perhaps one day you will go out in a storm 
and rescue a life ; God knows there are enough 
lost on this rocky coast." 

" How old were you when you first went out? " 
asked Christopher. 

" I was fourteen ; but I was much stronger than 
you. I had never known a day's illness. The 
first time I saw a wreck I was in my seventeenth 
year. It was a ship from Scotland that had 
drifted against the rock. The sailors had re- 
belled against their captain, and the ship had 
been turned out of her course. Your father 
nearly lost his life in his brave efforts to help 
the crew. He saved fourteen lives, among them 
that of the captain." 

" And you, Jansen?" 



196 



1Rorwa£. 



" I only saved a little boy of twelve years 
old, the captain's only son. Ah, how he clung 
to me ! Just when nearing the shore all my 
strength failed, and your father threw out a 
rope, which I felt strike my face in the dark- 
ness. I grasped at it and was pulled to land, so 
that it was really your father who saved me." 

"Hark!" said Christopher, "there are the 
church bells. We had better start, as it will 
take us a long time to go over the snow." 

He wrapped up the old man in his fur com- 
forter and cape, and, lighting a lantern, they 
started hand in hand for the church. 

The wind was blowing from all quarters, so it 
seemed to them; and the bells now sounded 
close in their ears, and now many miles off. 
The snow was still falling, and lay so deep on 
the ground that it reached up to their ankles. 

They could not speak to each other, for they 
were wrapped up to the eyes ; besides which, 
they were almost breathless with the exertion 
of battling against the wind and wading through 
the snow. 

How glad Christopher was when they were 
so near the church that he could descry the saints 
in the stained-glass windows and the many-col- 
ored reflection on the snow. 

At last they were in the porch, and heard the 



5t, ©uenelpb's JHorfc, 197 



monks chanting in the choir and the deep or- 
gan's solemn tones. 

Shaking the snow out of. their shoes and off 
their cloaks, they entered the church, which was 
warmed by a thousand lamps in honor of the 
great festival. 

Christopher passed into the sacristy, for he 
was one of the choristers ; and as midnight tolled 
from the steeple he walked in the procession of 
white-robed monks and boys in scarlet robes 
and white lace cottas, singing the " Venite Ado- 
remus." 

After the service all the people were to gather 
in the stranger refectory of the monastery, to 
break their fast on the good fare supplied for 
them by the monks. 

But looking seaward, an old and experienced 
fisherman saw wavering lights, and his sharp 
ears heard borne on the wind the sound of human 
voices crying for help. Fishermen made their 
way as fast as they could toward the shore, re- 
solved to try at any cost to save the lives that 
were in danger. 

And Christopher, with one hasty but fervent 
prayer, darted off, too, down to the shore, and re- 
solved to die or save a life that night. In the 
general eagerness and confusion, no one noticed 
him. He himself forgot to change his scarlet 



198 



chorister's dress or even to doff the lace 
cotta. 

The ship had struck St. Guenelph's Rock ; and 
then, instead of carrying it down the fiord, the 
wind had driven it out to sea again. Chris- 
topher's father was already far out in his boat; 
others were following. The little boy found a 
small boat that belonged to his father, in which 
he was allowed to row by himself a very little 
way on summer days, when the breeze was soft 
and gentle and the sea smooth as glass. 

" Now, St. Christopher, help me," he cried as 
he pushed off with a beating heart. 

The wind blew the little skiff hither and 
thither. It took all the boy's strength to battle 
against it, and even so, he was sometimes driven 
back toward the land. The snow and the spray 
of the raging waves blinded him, but he heard 
the voices crying for help, and he made for them 
as best he could. When he was nearing the 
ship, a boat passed him on its return to the 
shore, and he saw by the light of the lantern his 
father with three people saved from the wreck. 
His father, not knowing to whom he was speak- 
ing, called to him that it was almost hopeless 
to save any more. The ship was shivered to 
pieces, and great beams of wood were floating 
about, and would certainly upset any little boat. 



St, Ouenelpb's ffiorO. 199 



Christopher gave no answer, but redoubled 
his efforts, and at last found himself near the 
great vessel, round which the waves were rag- 
ing like lions round a little deer. Bits of wood 
struck him on the face, and his boat struck 
against detached beams and almost capsized. 
But he drew nearer and nearer, for in the 
gloom he detected human forms on the 
wrecked vessel, and the cries of despair rose 
above the howling of the wind and the roar- 
ing of the billows. Clinging to a beam was 
a man with a little baby in his arms ; and 
seeing by the lantern that the boat was little 
more than a toy manned by a child, he thrust 
the baby into the boat and sank beneath the 
waves. 

A great wave dashed over the boat, half-filling 
her with water and carrying away the oars. 
Christopher lifted the little child from the bot- 
tom of the boat, for it was lying in the water, 
and held it in his arms. The wind blew in the 
right direction, and sent the little boat home- 
ward. The waves tossed it, now mountains high 
and then down, as it were, to the uttermost parts 
of the sea. But Christopher sat in the boat, 
clasping the little baby to his breast and pray- 
ing to God. 

At last a great wave came and. with what 



200 



seemed to the boy a mocking laugh, overturned 
the boat just by St. Guenelph's Rock. 

With one arm clasping the baby to his breast, 
and nearly all his strength exhausted, Christo- 
pher thought he must be lost. 

" O sweet Child Jesus, as Thou didst accept 
the service of St. Christopher, help me," he 
cried aloud, as the waves closed over his head 
and he felt himself sinking with his burden. 

He rose again to the surface, and lo ! a bright 
light shone in the darkness, and the form of the 
Holy Child appeared before him. He passed 
His arm round Christopher, and, walking on the 
waves, led him and sustained him even to the 
very shore, where the people knelt in wondering 
awe and reverence. 

And when the Holy Child vanished and they 
drew round Christopher, they were astonished 
to find that his dress was dry, and that of the 
little baby too, who woke out of its sleep, and 
smiled, and stretched out its little hands to ca- 
ress Christopher's face, and crowed. The 
mother of the child, who had also been saved, 
fell at Christopher's feet, her heart too full for 
words. As she clasped her baby to her breast, 
her tears fell fast ; but they were tears of grati- 
tude and joy. 

Then they all passed up to the church, and a 



5L Guenelpb's jHorfc* 201 



solemn act of thanksgiving was made to God 
for those He had delivered from the storm. 
The storm ceased as the Holy Child vanished, 
and far and wide the strains of the " Venite Ado- 
remus" wandered, even up to the old grand- 
mother in the cottage on the cliff. 

When, later on, she clasped her brave little 
grandchild in her arms, as the father told the 
wondrous story, she murmured : 

" 'And there was no more sea.' Dost under- 
stand it now, lad?" 

The boy threw his arms round her neck and 
whispered : 

" Yet must I love it, dear grandmother, ever - 
so, for it showed me the beauty of His counte- 
nance who is the light of that country where 
there shall be no more shipwrecks, nor sorrow, 
nor crying, nor any more pain, for He Himself 
shall wipe the tears from every eye." 

But when he went down to the shore and saw 
the bodies of the dead strewn, like seaweed on 
the sands, his mind travelled to the land that is 
afar off, where no such sad and ghastly sights 
are, for " there is no more sea." 



mm 



Cbma. 



The leper. 

And behold, a leper came and adored Him, saying : Lord, 
if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean. And Jesus stretch- 
ing forth His hand, touched him, saying: I will. Be thou 
made clean. And forthwith his leprosy was cleansed. — Matt. 

viii. 2, j. 

\R away in China, on the banks of the 
Yang-tse-Kiang, there is a little vil- 
lage called Kian-tse-Lan. There, 
more than two hundred years ago, 
the missionaries sent over from Spain by the 
Jesuit Fathers had built a little chapel, and 
with much difficulty, and after earnest pray- 
ers and vigils and superhuman efforts, gained 
the hearts of some of the villagers and won them 
over to the faith of Jesus. But after they were 
dead and others had replaced them, the inhab- 
itants from a neighboring village had come to 
Kian-tse-Lan and stirred up strife and per- 
suaded the villagers of Kian-tse-Lan to murder 
the missionaries, destroy their chapel, and per- 
secute the Christians. Ail the Christians were 
202 




tTbe Xeper, 



203 



brought out to an open space in the midst of 
the village and bidden to trample on the cruci- 
fix which was laid down before them. Some 
were steadfast, and these were borne away to 
be buried alive ; others were not steadfast, and 
from fear they set their feet on their crucified 
Lord and trampled Him to the ground. 

Only one Christian escaped, and this was a 
poor old blind woman, who was ill at the time 
and passed unnoticed. If she had had strength, 
she would have risen from her sick bed and gone 
forth to meet a glorious death, witnessing for 
her crucified Lord; but He who overrules all 
things for His divine purposes, prevented her 
from moving, giving her the martyrdom of pa- 
tience in order that she might win a glorious 
victory for Him later on. 

Thus it seemed to the Chinese that the relig- 
ion of Jesus was stamped out from the district, 
for they sought all around for many miles, burn- 
ing and torturing the missionaries and the na- 
tive Christians ; and again temples of idols were 
thronged with worshippers, and the hated name 
of Jesus was heard only in blasphemy and con- 
tempt. 

But the old blind woman cherished the love of 
Jesus in her heart. Much as she suffered phys- 
ically, her heart was ever full of joy and peace, 



204 



Cbina, 



in spite of the pain she felt when she thought 
of the souls of those around her full of dark 
superstition. 

This poor old woman had one little grandson, 
the son of her only son. The child was devoted 
to his old relative. He was of a very quiet, 
gentle character, always ready to give up his 
own will to please others, and never happier 
than when he was helping some poor old person, 
or feeding the poor, or taking the part of the 
weak against the strong and unjust. 

Chan Kin Ling learned very readily ; he was 
bright and intelligent, and it was the dearest 
wish of his grandmother to see him a Christian. 
She taught the little boy all she knew: the 
nativity of Jesus in a stable; His suffering life; 
His cruel death, and the sorrows of His most 
holy Mother. 

"Ah, grandmother, if I had been there," he 
would burst forth in his generous, impulsive 
way, " if I had been there, I would have fought 
them all — the cruel soldiers, the wicked coward 
of a judge, the ungrateful Jews, who had so 
often had their people cured from sickness, 
blindness, and even leprosy." 

His voice sank to a whisper as he mentioned 
the last word. Leprosy was very common in 
the district, and the fate of the unfortunate be- 



205 



ings afflicted with the fell disease was so terri- 
ble that he hardly dared think of it. They were 
marked with an indelible brand ; put on boats 
with scanty provisions ; forbidden to land any- 
where on the banks of the Yang-tse-Kiang, 
which, of course, meant death by slow starva- 
tion. 

" But is it all true?" he would ask very often. 
He had been so used to think of the idols as his 
gods that he could not understand that all his 
father and the villagers believed in was false. 
What made the deepest impression on him was 
the gentleness and sweetness of his grandmoth- 
er's character; the other old people for whom 
he rendered little services were so cross and 
grumpy. Often they scolded him when he had 
taken the most trouble to please them, and they 
were never really satisfied ; whereas if he dis- 
pleased his grandmother, it was by being hasty 
or disobedient, or by telling lies, a fault very 
common among the Chinese. 

But the good seed sown was germinating in 
his heart, and was to develop into a mighty 
tree, bearing much fruit to the Lord. 

One day Chan came running home after fish- 
ing with his little companions. His father was 
outside the little bamboo cottage chopping some 
sticks for a fire ; Chan ran up to him to show him 



206 



CMna* 



the result of his day's sport, when suddenly he 
started back in terror, and screamed : 

" Oh, father! oh, father!" 

His shrieks brought his mother running out, 
and she in her terror fell to the ground in a 
deadly faint, for the father had chopped off 
one of his toes; it was lying on the ground near 
him, and the blood was flowing from his muti- 
lated foot, while he was all unconscious of the 
injury. 

It was not the sight of the blood, not the fear 
of being unable to arrest the life-stream flowing 
so freely and staining the tender grass, that had 
struck terror to their hearts. 

The father was unconscious of the injury he 
had done himself : he had no feeling in his foot ; 
and this loss of feeling is one of the first signs 
of the dread disease for which there is no hope 
or remedy. The father was a leper. 

The father looked down on the ground and 
saw his foot, and he too turned pale as death 
and tottered into the house. Chan's first care 
was to bury the amputated member carefully in 
the ground, and then to raise his mother and help 
her into the cottage. The father took pins and 
stuck them into his foot and leg ; he gave him- 
self hard blows with an iron rod, but it was all 
of no use; he felt nothing at all, though the 



Gbe Xeper. 



207 



blood flowed freely and he was soon covered 
with bruises. 

Great was the wailing in the little family that 
night. They all agreed to keep it secret as long 
as possible, but they knew that the day would 
come when, with his face and hands all swollen 
and disfigured, the authorities would discover 
their secret and tear the father from his child, 
the husband from his wife, to send him out to a 
cruel death. 

The next day Chan started off early in the 
morning to see his grandmother. As he went 
through the village he met a boy who was a 
great friend of his, and he stopped to speak to 
Chan. 

M Do you know that Kan Min Xyang is a leper? 
They say he must have been like it for a long 
time, but he has hidden it ; and now he is going 
to be put out in a boat before any more in the 
village catch it." 

" I didn't know," answered Chan, his heart al- 
most stopping. " Who found it out, and how 
could he hide it so long?" 

" He had some ulcers on his face," rejoined the 
other; " and when he was examined, they found 
that his whole body was quite full of leprosy." 

Chan turned sick and faint, and stooped down, 
as if to pick up something that had fallen to the 



208 



China. 



ground, that his companion might not notice 
his white face. 

" There's going to be much stricter examina- 
tion now," said the boy; "every one is going to 
be examined every two or three months, because 
there are more and more lepers every year. 
Oh, I wish something could be found to cure it ! 
Just think how awful to be dragged away from 
all you love, to die such a cruel death, for no 
fault of your own! It is terrible, terrible." 

The boy spoke feelingly, for he had seen his 
own grandfather borne away the year before, 
and — who knew? — perhaps he himself would one 
day share the terrible fate. 

" I must go now," said Chan, getting up from 
the ground on which he had half-fallen, half- 
thrown himself. " Grandmother is waiting for 
me. I am very sorry for Kan Min Nyang, 
though. I think it's very cruel to make them 
suffer so. They might be shut up in a hospital 
or a village to themselves; that would be far 
better." 

" They would come away," returned the other. 
" At least, so they say." 

Chan pursued his way to his grandmother's 
cottage, with a deathly pain at his heart. 

"What is the matter, Chan?" the old woman 
asked anxiously, as she heard his unusually 



Zbc Heper, 



209 



slow footsteps. He generally ran in gayly, 
seized her round the neck, and kissed her joy- 
fully. 

Chan burst out crying, threw himself on the 
floor, and screamed in his agony. The old 
woman sought to comfort and calm him, beg- 
ging him at least to tell her the cause of his 
grief. For a long time he dared not trust him- 
self to speak : the secret must be whispered in 
her ear so low that no one else might hear it. 
After half an hour's crying his sobs grew less 
violent, and at last died away ; then he rose and, 
putting his arms round the old woman's neck, 
whispered so low that she could scarcely hear : 

" Father's a leper ! " 

At the sound of the dreadful word he burst 
out crying again, and it was only when the old 
woman persuaded him that the neighbors would 
hear him and come in to see what was the mat- 
ter that he regained his self-control ; and after 
having walked all round the cottage to see that 
no one was near, and poked in all the most im- 
possible corners, where nobody could possibly 
be hidden, he told her in hurried, frightened 
whispers how they had made the discovery. 

"And I met San Ming this morning," he 
added, " and he told me that Kan Min Nyang is 
a leper, and that now they are going to make 
14 



210 



Cblna* 



stricter searches for lepers and take them away 
from the very beginning. Oh, grandmother, 
can't your God save him? Won't you ask Him? 
Is He no more powerful than ours? You told me 
when He was on earth He used to heal the lep- 
ers. Can't He do it now? Has He been van- 
quished, and can't He do what He likes now?" 

The grandmother tried to prove to him that 
it is not always God's most holy will to grant 
our petitions, not that He is less powerful than 
of yore, but that we ask amiss; or, in His love, 
He sees that were He to grant our petitions they 
would be hurtful to us. But the child persisted. 

" Oh, grandmother, if He was once a little 
boy, how can He look at me and not be sorry 
for me? It isn't so much for myself that I care, 
but for mother. Oh, granny, if He will only 
cure my father I will be a Christian, even if 
they kill me. Better were it for me to die than 
my dear, dear father, and such a cruel death ! " 

The grandmother did not answer for a few 
moments. She knew that the cure of her son 
would be a miracle, and a miracle which she 
could not believe would tend to the glory of 
Almighty God, as it must be kept a strict se- 
cret ; she felt her own unworthiness to ask such 
a favor, and yet she remembered that our God 
is not only almighty, but all-merciful. 



XLbc Xepet\ 



211 



"We will pray," she said; "and if it be His 
holy will, He will cure your father." 

"Teach me how to pray to Him," urged the 
little boy. " Let us begin at once this moment, 
for we know not how soon the examination will 
be made, and perhaps it takes a long time for 
Him to make a cure." 

" Say whatever comes into your mind, child," 
she answered. " He is so kind, He loves us to 
speak from the heart; say just what you think; 
tell Him quite simply what you want Him to do 
for you." 

The little boy knelt down by the side of the 
old woman, and, with tears and sighs, breathed 
forth his fervent prayer. 

" Dear Christian Jesus," he said, " my father is 

a ," he muttered the word under his breath. 

" Dear Jesus, grandmother says You were 
once a little boy. You had a dear mother; if 
You had seen her going to be very unhappy, 
You would have wished to die for her. Please, 
then, dear Christian God, make my father quite 
well, and I will always be grateful and love You 
as granny does. I will be a Christian boy, too, 
even if they put me to death. I will love You 
always, and never be a bad boy again. Dear 
Jesus, please hear me, oh ! please hear me, and 
make my father well." 



212 



Cbina. 



The grandmother's tears fell fast, but the 
little boy rose from his knees with a smile on 
his face. 

" Granny, I feel so nice here," he said, putting 
his hand on his heart. " I feel as if some one 
had told me it was all a dream, and father is not 
a ," He dared not finish. 

" I shall pray to Jesus every day till father is 
quite well," he said, " and you must teach me 
to be a Christian." 

" Now go home," said the grandmother, when 
the boy had put the little cottage tidy and 
helped her prepare her food. " Your mother will 
want you to comfort her, and you must be very 
careful, and had better not talk to any one 
more than necessary, lest you should betray the 
secret." 

Chan promised, and, kissing her very ten- 
derly, ran home with a lighter heart and fresh 
courage, for wmen God calls, His voice is heard 
not in the storm and the tempest, but in calm 
and peacefulness. Chan repeated his prayer 
over and over again all day, and he was aston- 
ished at the peaceful joy that filled his heart. 
He comforted his father and mother, and de- 
clared his firm faith in the God of the Christians, 
and his resolution to become a Christian the 
day his father was cured. Though this resolu- 



tLbc Zepet. 



tion was not altogether pleasing to his father 
and mother, they did not pay much attention to 
it, thinking that it was only a childish fancy. 
They had no hope either of a cure. They had 
seen thousands of lepers; some rich men, who 
had employed every means to obtain relief from 
the fell disease. 

Days went by, and a loathsome ulcer broke 
out on the father's leg; great pains had to 
be taken to conceal it without exciting suspi- 
cion. 

" Is this your cure?" asked the mother bitterly 
of Chan. " I told you there was no such God as 
the Christians say — it is all a lie ; and if He ex- 
isted He would not have power to do what has 
never been done before." 

Still Chan persisted. All day long he prayed 
to the Christian God, reminding Him of His own 
childhood and tender love for His most dear 
mother. His grandmother had taught him all 
she knew, and was surprised at the heavenly 
light the child received to enable him to under- 
stand the mysteries of the faith and to console 
him in the long-deferred hope. 

One day at last he came down and found his 
mother sitting on the floor, her face buried in 
her hands in the agony of despair, his father 
pacing up and down muttering curses. 



214 



Cbfna, 



" Where is now your God?" he said to his 
little son. " The examination is for to-day, and 
look!" He moved the coverings aside and 
showed the foul wound on his leg, fetid and 
hideous as ever. 

"Father," said the boy, firmly and without 
changing color, " will you promise on oath to let 
me go away to the Christians if the dear Jesus 
cures you in time?" 

" Oh, yes ; oh, yes," moaned the mother. " You 
shall start at once, if only your father is cured." 

The father promised also, and Chan knelt 
down in a corner, and with his arms folded on 
his breast poured forth entreaty after entreaty 
to the Lord of heaven and earth, with whom all 
things are possible. 

Footsteps were heard outside, but Chan heeded 
them not. The officers of the examination en- 
tered and began by interrogating the child. 

" Come here, my little fellow," said one. 
" Have you any ulcers on your body?" 

" Oh, no," answered the child. " I know well 
what you mean. There are no lepers here ; 
I assure you again we are all sound and well." 

" That is what we are going to see," retorted the 
man. " You must show us your arms and legs." 

He pinched the poor boy, and seeing him start, 
said: 



tTbe 3Leper. 



215 



" Ah, yes, it is all right with you ; and now 
your mother." 

Then it came to the father's turn, and, seeing 
him turn pale, the men exchanged glances. 
But there, just above his right ankle, where there 
had been the unsightly wound, the flesh was 
white and sound ; and on the officers pricking 
it with a sharp instrument, the father cried out 
with pain. And Chan knelt still in his corner, 
crying with gratitude and thanking our dear 
Lord from the bottom of his full heart. 

When the men were gone, he kissed his father 
and mother and said : 

" Where is now the God of the Christians? 
Can you any longer doubt that He is the true 
God?" 

" We will all go and seek Him," said the father, 
overawed. " We will go and ask your grand- 
mother where to find Him, and we will go, were 
it to the end of the world." 

The grandmother wept for joy when she heard 
of the miracle wrought by Him who so dearly 
loved little children when on earth, in answer 
to the prayers of a little child. 

She gave them all the instruction in her power 
about the Christian religion, and then advised 
them to start off for a distant village by the sea- 
shore, where there were strangers from countries 



216 



beyond the seas who belonged to the Christian 
religion. These were the Portuguese, who had 
established a small colony on the sea-coast. 
There was a small church and missionaries, and 
the wanderers were received with the greatest 
kindness, and in due time were baptized and be- 
came fervent Christians. Little Chan wished to 
be fully instructed, that he might go and preach, 
the faith of Jesus to his benighted countrymen,, 
and the missionaries kept him always with them.. 
He prepared with the greatest devotion for his. 
First Communion. On the happy day itself he: 
consecrated himself specially to the Blessedi 
Virgin before his Communion, and as he re- 
ceived his Lord and Saviour his face shone with 
a celestial beauty. After Mass the missiona- 
ries, who had prepared some pleasant surprises 
for him, went to call him from the little corner 
where he knelt in the chapel. He was kneeling,, 
with his arms folded on his breast, a sweet smile 
on his face, upturned toward the statue of the 
Virgin Mother with her Child. He did not move 
when they spoke to him, and when they touched 
him he fell back into the arms of the mission- 
ary. For the second time he had heard the 
divine call, " Suffer the little children to come 
unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the 
kingdom of heaven." 



Soutb Hmedca* 



The city of the sun. 

God heard the rest, 
'Twixt the sun's footsteps down the west, 
Then He called one who loved Him best. 

— E. B. Browning. 

N a far-away country that you little 
ones have scarcely heard of, though 
the elder children are perhaps very 
learned in the history of South 
America, lived a people who worship not 
the dear God whom you love and try to 
serve, but the work of His hands, the sun. 
They know that the beautiful flowers would not 
unfold their glowing petals without the light of 
the sun ; that the juicy fruit would not ripen 
without it; that they themselves could not 
live. You have never seen such beautiful flow- 
ers as grow in that far-off land, or you would 
not wonder at their adoring the sun, believing, 
as they do, that it works all these wonders of 
itself. 

In hot countries the people are very pas- 
217 




218 



Soutb Bmerica* 



sionate and quarrel very easily, and thus they 
are separated into tribes, each ruled by a king 
of its own. 

Once a king of a powerful tribe had a little 
son called Lera. He was very beautiful, tall and 
strong for his age, and could fish, and ride, and 
throw a dart almost as well as a full-grown man. 
He was never happy, however ; instead of being 
proud of his strength and taking delight in the 
fishing, hunting, or exploring expeditions, he 
would wander alone away into the woods or to 
a lonely place on the mountains, and dream 
away the day. He felt that he knew so little 
and he wanted to know so much ; he was not 
content with the joys and pleasures of earth, 
his heart and soul were so empty. 

Once an old man of the tribe, who had taught 
him all he knew about hunting and riding, and 
the prayers the people used to say to the sun, had 
told him that in the future he would come to a 
beautiful city where he would see the sun quite 
close ; where every one was clad in robes that 
shone like the stars ; where the flowers were so 
brilliant that no color on earth resembled them ; 
where the fruits were ever ripe and the birds 
ever sang ; where all was happy because all was 
beautiful, and all hearts were so full of love 
that they made music night and day. 



tTbe Cit£ of tbe Sum 



219 



The king's son, Lera, longed for the time to 
come to go to that beautiful city. The people 
about him were always quarrelling; and very 
often other tribes came against his father, and 
then the houses were burned and the men 
wounded, and often even the little children and 
women were hurt. And Lera thought of the 
time when he would have to be king instead 
of his father, and lead the men to war, and 
strike down his enemies, and his heart was full 
of pain. 

His father and companions laughed at him, 
and called him a girl because he was so tender- 
hearted. He could not bear to see the boys take 
the eggs away from the little birds, or to catch 
them in snares ; and if he saw a caterpillar or 
worm in the road, he would carry it gently 
away and set it down where no one would be 
likely to tread on it. 

Once, when there was war, he crept out at 
night, after a terrible battle, and "carried water 
to the men who were lying in their agony. His 
father was very angry with him for helping his 
enemies, and for several days he was shut up 
and not allowed to go out. When he was all 
alone, he thought much more of the sorrow in 
the world all around him, and he resolved to 
set out on a journey to see if he could not find 



220 



Soutb Bmedca, 



the City of the Sun. The old man had told him 
it was far off, where the sky touches the earth, 
and that no one could get there by walking, as 
he would drop down dead with fatigue. 

But in the night Lera had a beautiful dream. 
A boy in a bright shining robe came and touched 
him and told him to get up and come with him. 
He took Lera by the hand and led him through 
the forest, over the wide river, through many 
green fields and tangled woodlands, and at last 
to a high mountain, so steep and difficult to as- 
cend that Lera would have given up in despair 
if the beautiful being had not held his hand 
fast and helped him up. The top of the moun- 
tain reached right up to the clouds; and the 
spirit wafted the boy through vast regions of 
gray and white clouds, then up a rosy, gold- 
tipped cloud which stretched right into golden 
sky. And raising his eyes at the bidding of 
the spirit, Lera saw before him, surrounded 
by rays of light of many different colors un- 
known on earth, a beautiful queen, with a sweet 
smile on her face, holding in her arms a little 
child with a crown on his head, who stretched 
out his little arms to Lera, and called him by 
his name ; and then Lera woke up and the beau- 
tiful vision vanished, but from that time was 
ever present in his mind. 



TZbe Gtt£ of tbe Sun. 



221 



He had no doubt that it was the queen in the 
City of the Sun, and that the little child was her 
child. Oh, how that vision gladdened Lera's 
heart! For he thought that a little boy would 
understand him better, and be more sorry for 
him, and more tender to him than a man. The 
men that Lera knew were so fierce and so im- 
patient they would never be troubled with the 
queries and wistful longings of a little child. 
The queen was so gentle-looking, too, Lera felt 
sure there would be a kind welcome for him in 
the City of the Sun. Moreover, the little boy 
had stretched out his arms to Lera and called 
him by his name. 

Lera grew sadder and sadder ; he no longer 
cared to play with the other children, or to go 
out hunting or riding with his father. At last he 
took the determination to set off for the City of 
the Sun. He thought he would go to the moun- 
tains which he could see in the distance, and of 
which he was sure the tops must reach the sky, 
as in his dream. 

One evening, when all the men, women, and 
children were gathered together in the beauti- 
ful temple in which they worshipped the sun, 
he made up his mind to start that night. As 
the worshippers stretched out their arms toward 
the west, where the sun was setting, singing a 



222 



Soutb Hmerfca* 



low melodious chant, little Lera murmured 
softly : 

" Presently, dear sun : I will set off to come to 
thee. O dear sun, make the way easy to the poor 
boy who cannot live without thee any longer. 
Dear lady, let me see thee again, and thy dear 
child." 

After the prayer Lera went into his father's 
room and lay down on the soft rugs at his father's 
feet, where he slept every night. It seemed 
hours to him before he knew by his father's deep, 
regular breathing that he was asleep. He crept 
out of the room and out into the garden. Far 
away, the eternal snow on the lofty mountains 
shone in the moonlight; so calm, so peaceful 
must that region be, the boy thought sorrow- 
fully. He was sorrowful; tears ran down his 
cheeks at the thought of leaving his father — he 
had no mother — and all his little companions. 

"When I get to the beautiful city," he mur- 
mured softly, " I will ask the sun to send a mes- 
senger for them all, and then we shall all be 
happy together." 

Lera ran very fast to get as far away as possible 
from the dwelling-places before morning came 
and his absence should be discovered. On he 
flew, ever faster and faster, till he came to the 
woods, and felt that now, even if his flight were 



Zhc Gttg of tbe Sun. 



223 



discovered, he could slip underneath the large 
ferns and thick brushwood. Poor little Lera, he 
was sore tired. Thorns pricked his bare feet ; 
the branches through which he pushed his way 
sprang back and tore his face and hands ; it was 
very dark, for the moonlight only streamed in 
rays here and there through the thick foliage 
overhead. 

Still he pressed on, so eager to reach the beau- 
tiful city that he paid no attention to the roaring 
of the wild beasts in the forest, the call of the 
night-birds, or the hiss of the snake which was 
gliding past him, till a sudden hiss in his ear 
startled him. There, close behind him, was 
the deadly reptile, only too eager to seize on its 
prey, when a little deer, startled by the boy's 
footsteps, rose from its couch of fern and, in 
the darkness, threw itself just between the snake 
and Lera. The snake coiled round it, and Lera 
once more was free and for the moment out of 
danger. He was so weary and footsore that 
when he came to a little break in the forest he 
threw himself down on a tuft of soft moss and 
fell into a deep sleep. 

The sun was high in the heavens when the boy 
awoke. He could catch glimpses of the blue 
sky and bright sun through the tall intertwin- 
ing trees; and he knew that his people must 



224 



Soutb America, 



have been up a long time, and most likely search- 
ing for him. He rose quickly and tried to run, 
but he was so tired and faint that he could 
hardly even walk. Still he felt he must go on 
to the beautiful city, where the sun would surely- 
let him rest in peace. Nearly all day he walked, 
resting now and then, sometimes on the soft 
moss and sometimes on the trunk of a tree 
which had been struck down by lightning in one 
of those dreadful storms the like of which we 
never see here. 

Night drew on at last, and the boy still walked 
on and on in the forest ; at last he was so tired 
he threw himself down on the ground. But re- 
membering the last night, he thought it was not 
safe to rest there. Besides, perhaps there was 
a stream near, for the grass was green and 
long; most likely the stream was the home 
of alligators ; and, in terror, he looked round him 
to see if he could not climb a tree. A little 
way off were some trees so close together that 
the branches were thickly and strongly inter- 
woven, forming a sort of cradle ; he climbed up 
and dropped asleep without thinking that per- 
haps he would fall down in his sleep. 

When he came to himself, he looked round in 
utter astonishment. He was no longer in the 
forest, but in a hut, lying between soft rugs. 



Zbc Cttg of tbe Sun, 



225 



Had his father found him? he wondered. He 
tried to get up, but he found his legs would 
not bear him; he fell down when trying to 
stand. 

The door of the hut opened; a white man 
walked in. Lera had heard the men of his 
father's tribe talk about the white men whom 
they had seen in their distant journeys when 
marching to war against other peoples. They 
were cruel, they said, and killed the natives, 
and took away their riches, and burned their 
houses. Lera lay very still, his heart beating 
wildly, for surely the white man would kill 
him. But the white man spoke to him in his 
own language, and told him he was with 
friends who would take care of him and make 
him well. 

Soon after a native came in, to whom Lera 
talked more freely, and the young man told him 
that he had escaped from his people to become 
a Christian and follow the Christian priest. 
His name was Jose; he had been christened by 
the priest. Lera told him about his dream, and 
his longings to reach the beautiful city, and the 
young man said the priest would tell him all 
about it, how to reach it and be happy ever- 
more. 

The next day Lera felt better and more rested, 



226 



Soutb Bmerica, 



and he got up and followed Jose into another 
hut, which served the Spanish missionary for a 
chapel. Lera uttered a cry of delight, for there 
over the altar was a beautifully painted statue 
of the Blessed Virgin holding in her arms the 
infant Jesus. The little Child was holding out 
His arms even as Lera had seen Him in the 
dream ; the Blessed Virgin had a sweet smile on 
her face. Then Lera begged the priest to tell 
him all about that beautiful lady and the dear 
little Child ; and in a few weeks he was so anx- 
ious to become a Christian that the missionary 
baptized him, telling him at the same time 
that if he were discovered by his own people 
to be a Christian they would most likely kill 
him. 

" But then you say I should at once go to 
heaven," said the boy. " Dear Padre," for so 
Jose had taught him to call the missionary, 
" that is just what I want." 

" Would you not like to go and tell others 
about that beautiful country," answered the 
priest, " that they might learn to love God too 
and become Christians?" 

" Oh, yes. Dear Padre, teach me all you can 
as quickly as possible, and then I shall go back 
to my father and teach him to become a Chris- 
tian, and all my little companions. I shall tell 



Zbc Cftg of tbe Sun, 



227 



them about our most dear Lord Jesus, and they 
will love Him too." 

A few months went by, and still Lera had not 
been discovered by his father. He was now 
preparing for his First Communion, and then he 
intended to try to find his way back to his own 
country to teach his father the Christian religion. 

The missionary, to try him, threw obstacles 
in his way. 

" What will you do if your father refuses to 
believe in the faith of Jesus?" he said. 

" I shall pray and pray, for you said God liked 
us to trust Him." 

" Supposing the other people kill both you and 
your father for becoming Christians?" 

" Dear Padre, we should then go to the beau- 
tiful city and see Our Lord and His mother. I 
must go — I will go. I want my father to love 
the Christian God too. I should not be happy 
without him in heaven." 

The little boy was very much in earnest ; noth- 
ing could daunt his courage. And at last the 
happy day of his First Communion arrived. He 
was clad in white, with a wreath of white lilies 
on his brow; the little chapel was made beauti- 
ful with flowers; wreaths were placed on the 
statue of the Blessed Virgin and her Child by 
Lera, 



228 



Soutb Bmeilca* 



After Mass the few Christians who came from 
different tribes went home ; and the missionary, 
Jose, and Stephen, as Lera was now called since 
his baptism, remained in the chapel to give 
thanks and ask God's blessing on Stephen's jour- 
ney to his father. The missionary could not 
doubt that the boy was called to make this 
effort to save the souls of his father and com- 
panions, and it was arranged that he should start 
in the morning of the next day. 

They were singing sweet hymns of praise and 
love, Stephen's clear alto notes rising above the 
musical tenor voices of the priest and Jose. 

Suddenly they heard a loud war-cry quite 
close to the chapel. If they had not been singing, 
they would have heard it in the distance gradu- 
ally approaching, and would have been prepared. 
Stephen clasped the hand of the missionary and 
said breathlessly : 

" Dear Padre, it is the cry of my people ; they 
will kill you." 

" Fly," said Jose; " we two will remain here. 
They will not be so likely to kill us, as we be- 
long to their country. But you, Padre, they 
will certainly put to death." 

"My children," answered the priest, "your 
devotion is very beautiful ; but you cannot think 
I should be so cowardly in the Master's service. 



Zbc Clt£ of tbe Sum 



229 



Courage! the will of God be done, and His 
name be glorified." 

There was no time to say more, for the war- 
riors were now all round the chapel, and the 
chief, Stephen's father, with his oldest warriors, 
entered the chapel. 

But when they saw Stephen in his white robe 
and with the lilies on his brow, they stopped in 
wonder. The chief asked him what it meant, 
and why he had fled from them, and what was 
the meaning of all they saw around them — the 
statue of the Blessed Virgin and her Child, the 
altar, the flowers, the candles, the sacred vessels. 

Stephen told them all, beginning from his 
wonderful dream and ending with the mission- 
ary's kindness to him when he arrived tired and 
worn out outside the chapel, though he had not 
noticed it. Then he asked the missionary to 
tell them about the faith of Jesus, and to ex- 
plain to them that the true God was the Sun of 
Righteousness, and not the sun which they saw 
in the heavens. 

The king's heart was touched, and he pro- 
fessed his desire to become a Christian, as also 
one of the old warriors. But the others were 
enraged, and cried out that it was treason 
against their god, and that the Christians must 
die to appease his wrath. 



230 



Soutb Smerica, 



Then the missionary pleaded for the con- 
verts, offering his life for theirs, but it was of 
no avail. They asked the king if he really be- 
lieved in the new God, saying that he would 
die if he replied yes. 

The missionary listened breathlessly for the 
answer, praying with all his heart that God 
would save this soul and give the king grace, if 
need be, not to shrink from the baptism of blood. 

" My heart believes in Jesus," said the king, 
standing proudly, without flinching before the 
spears of his warriors ; " I would gladly be 
taught His religion." 

" Oh, take my life for his," cried little Ste- 
phen, running forward and throwing himself on 
his father's breast as the warriors rushed upon 
the king with their spears. 

They recoiled before the little figure in its 
white robe, with the look of angelic purity on 
its face. But a man in the background, who 
thought, perhaps, he would be made king him- 
self when Stephen's father was dead, hurled his 
spear with such force and so true an aim that 
it went through the king's heart. 

Then the others bound the missionary and 
Jose and carried them off, with Stephen, to their 
own city, where they resolved to try them and 
see what punishment they deserved. 



tTbe Cit£ of the Sun. 



231 



And lo ! as they went through the dark forest, 
the Christians singing hymns of praise to their 
God, and Stephen's tears flowing down his 
cheeks for grief at the death of his father the 
king, a beautiful Child appeared and gently 
wiped away the tears, and touching the lilies on 
Stephen's brow they became of gold brighter 
than the sun, so that the men could not look at 
him for the dazzling brightness. And the Child 
pressed Stephen to His breast, and Stephen 
felt the love of His heart flow into his own, and 
the deep wound made by his father's death was 
healed. Then the Child vanished; but Stephen's 
crown still shone, and his face was calm and 
peaceful, like that of an angel. 

And all who had seen the miracle fell on their 
faces on the ground and owned that the God of 
the Christians was the true God. 

When, at last, they came back to their own 
city, they gathered round the missionary, and, 
after listening to his words, they nearly all 
asked to be baptized. So the city became 
Christian ; and when Stephen grew up and was 
king, he ruled with such mildness and justice 
that there was a great peace over them. He 
lived to be very old, and to see his children's 
children baptized in the faith of Jesus. 

Jose went away to be ordained that he might 



Soutb Bmerfca. 



become a missionary, and he died for the 
faith after enduring many hardships. The 
missionary priest who had baptized Stephen re- 
mained with him until he died of a painful and 
wearisome disease brought on by the climate, to 
which he was unused, and the hard life he had 
so patiently and cheerfully led, to " carry to the 
nations" the love of God and the " peace which 
passeth all understanding." 




the holy well. 

Sweet Jesus went down to yonder town 

As far as the Holy Well, 
And there did see as fine children 

As any tongue can tell. 
He said : " God bless you every one, 

And Christ your portion be ; 
Little children, shall I play with you? 
And you shall play with Me." 

But they made answer to Him, "Nay " — 

They were lords' and ladies' sons; 
And He, the poorest of them all, 

Was born in an ox's stall. 
Sweet Jesus turned Him about, 

And He neither laughed nor smiled ; 
But tears came trickling from His eyes 
Like water from the skies. — Old Carol. 

|UR divine Lord, knowing that we, 
like silly sheep, follow close after 
our leader, and fear to strike out in 
i a new path of our own accord, 
throughout His earthly pilgrimage left in- 
delible traces of His footsteps on the way in 
which we should walk — indelible, for they are 
marked with His heart's blood. 

2 33 




284 



To teach us humility, He was born in a 
stable, surrounded by dumb beasts, worshipped 
by shepherds, unknown by and despised of 
men. 

For this reason He suffered poverty and hun- 
ger in Egypt for seven years, and, returning to 
Judea, made the long and toilsome journey on 
foot. And what a sublime example He has 
given us in His life at Nazareth, where He grew 
up, as the lily of the valley, in that life hidden 
from men, but spotless and perfect in the eyes 
of Almighty God ! 

And as He was in all points like unto us, yet 
without sin, He suffered even as we suffer, and 
our human longings and griefs were not un- 
known to Him. So, in that little city of Syria, 
where the boys played in the streets as they do 
in our own country at the present day, Jesus 
Himself joined in the pastimes; and this again 
for an example to us, that we may learn to 
be gentle and unselfish in our recreation, seek- 
ing to please our companions rather than our- 
selves. 

Once when the children were playing to- 
gether by the well, making clay birds and ani- 
mals, Jesus, making some little sparrows, bade 
them fly away. Immediately they rose into the 
air, and, after circling over the children's heads 



235 



for some time, flew away into the distance so 
far that they could be no longer seen. 

Then the little red-haired Judas cried, " Sor- 
cerer, wizard!" and the children fell on Him 
and beat Him, knocked Him down in the mud, 
kicked Him, and forced the clay into His mouth. 
And His mother, hearing the shouts of " Sor- 
cerer!" "Down with Him!" came hastening 
toward the well, and there saw her Son, cov- 
ered with mud and bruises, blasphemed and 
cursed by the little children He had come down 
from heaven to redeem ; and a sword of sharpest 
sorrow pierced her heart in this foreshadowing 
of the scourging at the pillar. 

The well was a favorite spot of the little Naz- 
arenes. There they came to play under the 
shade of the palm-trees in the hot summer 
weather; there they chased each other about 
from tree to tree on the cold winter days. And 
often Jesus had gone down to play with the 
little boys of His own age. But after the inci- 
dent of the clay sparrows, His mother begged 
Him to stay at home with her; and He, who 
was obedient to her least wish, remained con- 
stantly by her side. 

One bright May morning, however, the Holy 
Child was sent by His foster-father into the 
town to buy some nails of which he was in 



236 



need. On His way home He saw a group of 
children playing round the Holy Well; and, 
with an earnest desire to save their souls, He 
begged permission of His mother to go and play 
with them. With many entreaties that He 
would soon come back to her, the Blessed Vir- 
gin gave her permission, and the Holy Child 
ran away gleefully to join His companions. 
But among them were some rich children, 
whose parents had lately come to live in the 
town, and who were as yet unknown to the Holy 
Child. He ran up to the little group of children 
and asked them what they were playing at, and 
said He had permission to play with them. 

" But," said a tall boy with a proud face, " He 
is only a poor boy ; His father is a carpenter ; 
they live in that poor little cottage over there. 
We can't play with beggars." 

" And look at His clothes," chimed in another. 
" Somebody must have clothed Him with his 
cast-off garments." 

" Go away," said another. " Don't you hear? 
We aren't going to let you play with us." 

"Oh, let Him play," interceded a little boy 
with a gentle voice and good-natured face. " I 
watched Him the other day, and the other chil- 
dren were very unkind to Him, but He never 
lost His temper. He is as gentle and meek as a 



Cbe Dole xacll. 



237 



lamb; and, after all, His playing with us can't 
hurt us." 

"Mind your own business, Tola," retorted 
the leader of the group. " And you, beggar 
boy," turning to the holy Jesus, "go away or 
I shall beat you. Go ! " 

Then Jesus, " despised and rejected," turned 
away, with tears in His eyes and an unutter- 
able yearning in His heart. The children He 
had left His throne and His kingdom to redeem 
despised Him, would have nothing to say to 
Him; and yet without Him they could not be 
saved. 

While He mused on the way home, He heard 
light footsteps behind Him; and, turning. He 
saw little Tola running after Him. 

" Don't cry, poor little boy," said kind-hearted 
Tola, throwing his arms round the neck of Jesus. 
" They're proud and contemptuous just because 
they're rich, but they are not worth taking no- 
tice of. Never mind; I'll play with you, even if 
they do reproach me." 

He kissed the Holy Child and walked with 
Him, and ever afterwards greeted Him kindly 
when they met in the street. 

Twenty-five years afterward, Tola had al- 
most forgotten the companions of his childhood, 
and never again thought of the poor boy whom 



238 



he had braved public opinion to console, for 
he had been travelling, and was a prosperous 
merchant, married and the father of a family. 
But being in Jerusalem for the great feast- 
day, on the eve of the Sabbath he heard cries, 
shouts of execration, a great tumult in the 
streets. He went out to see what was the cause, 
and asked a bystander where all the crowd were 
going, 

"To Calvary, to crucify three felons," an- 
swered the man. " One is a Nazarene, who, it 
appears, declared Himself to be a king, and who 
is a blasphemer also ; for which cause, chiefly, 
we have obtained permission from the Roman 
governor to crucify Him." 

" A Nazarene? " said Tola to himself. " I must 
go, too, and see if I know him, by chance. Who 
can it be ?" 

He followed the crowd through the streets, 
which were so thronged that it was only at about 
the fifth hour that Tola reached Calvary. 

There, between two thieves, he saw on the 
cross, covered with wounds and bruises, crowned 
with thorns, His hands and feet pierced by 
blunted nails, the blood pouring from every 
part of His sacred body, the Nazarene. 

"No; it is none I know, thank God," said 
Tola, shuddering. And then th§ crucified Naz- 



239 



arene looked down upon him. On the counte- 
nance of one only had Tola seen that expres- 
sion. His heart beat fast ; he fell on his knees 
and cried, " Jesus ! " 

Then a thick darkness came over the land, 
the foundations of the earth shook, and Tola 
lost consciousness. 

When he came to himself, he was still kneel- 
ing there; but the body of the crucified Jesus 
was being borne away to the sepulchre. Tola 
followed, that he might have one last look, that 
he might speak to those who must be the friends 
of Jesus, as they were bearing His body so 
tenderly to its resting-place. 

They allowed him to speak to them, to look 
at the face of Jesus ; they told him to go to a 
certain house the next day and ask for Simon 
Peter, the son of Bar-jona, who would speak to 
him of Jesus. And this he did; and after many 
conferences with the Apostle, he was baptized 
and his whole house, and thus received the im- 
measurable gift of faith in the Lord, whom he 
had loved when He was yet unknown to him. 




JBelctfum. 
The crown of life. 

Ruendi 

In ferrum mens prona viris, animaeque capaces 
Mortis, et ignavium dediturae parcere vitas. 

Quando probatus fuerit, accipiet coronam vitse. 




E are apt to think of the little boys 
and girls of the Middle Ages as 
phantoms passing by in our dreams, 
or as the children of a story with 



whom we have nothing in common. And yet 
they were of the same flesh and blood, with 
hearts, aspirations, wishes, and longings like our 
own. Only then, when life was sterner and 
harder, men were trained for the combat by se- 
vere discipline and blind obedience during their 
childhood, and often those who were the most 
strictly brought up carried off the most glorious 
victories. 

Thus it was with the hero whose history has 
been handed down to us from generation to gen- 
eration, who, thwarted in his youthful desire for 
military glory, merited, by his resignation and 
240 



XZbe Crown of %ife. 



241 



obedience, to obtain such an end that, " being 
dead, he yet speaketh." 

After the discovery of Christopher Columbus, 
for two centuries streams of adventurers poured 
forth year after year to the New World from all 
the nations of Europe. 

In the beginning of the seventeenth century, 
when the noble deeds of Sir Philip Sydney, 
Sir Walter Raleigh, and many more were fresh 
in men's minds, there lived in Belgium a little 
boy, who listened eagerly when the conversa- 
tion turned on the conquest of the newly dis- 
covered countries, the brilliant campaigns, the 
fights at sea, and the capture of prize vessels. 

He was the only son of Count Fulk Van Lin- 
den, and his father being an officer of great 
distinction, the boy naturally thought that he, 
too, when a man, would share in the adventures 
abroad and fight under his country's banner. 

From his fifth year, every Christmas Eve he 
prayed all night in the little chapel adjoining 
his father's castle, and consecrated himself and 
his arms to the infant Jesus, and promised ever 
to be " strength to the weak " and generous to 
the poor in remembrance of Him who was born 
in a stable, cradled in a manger. Moreover, 
he made a special vow to devote one-half of the 
treasure that he might gain in the New World to 

16 



242 



Belgium. 



building a church for the people of a village on 
a mountain not far from his home who had to 
walk six miles to Mass every Sunday. 

Moreover, he asked our blessed Lord to grant 
him the grace of a happy death, that he might 
die fighting for a good and noble cause, bravely 
and manfully, and that he might never sully the 
glory of his father's name, or be guilty of an 
act unworthy of a Christian knight. 

But when he was about fourteen years old, 
the young Fulk had a bad illness, which left 
him very delicate. For some years he was 
obliged to lie on his back for the greater part of 
the day, and at twenty-one years of age was still 
very weakly and utterly unfit for the hardships 
of the camp. Being left a great deal to himself, 
for his brothers were always engaged in manly 
sports in which poor Fulk could no longer join, 
he grew very thoughtful, and began to wonder 
if there were not something more heroic even 
than the life of a soldier, and if " he that ruleth 
his spirit" were not at least equal " to him that 
taketh a city." 

The result of his meditations was that one day 
he entreated his father to allow him to resign 
his rights as eldest-born in favor of his brother 
Louis, and to retire to the monastery of the 
Dominicans of Briege. 



£be Crown of Xtfe. 



243 



The Count readily agreed. The heads of the 
Van Linden family had ever been renowned for 
their bravery and prowess, and he was anxious 
that the son who succeeded him should not be 
wanting in fitness and ability to sustain the re- 
nown of the house, and his son Louis had 
already distinguished himself in the capture at 
sea of a French vessel laden with treasures from 
the New World. 

In spite of the earnest desire of the youth 
and the immense sum with which the Count 
promised to endow the convent, the Domini- 
cans at first refused to receive the young Fulk. 
The Superior was afraid that a kind of bitter- 
ness at his disappointment had led the youth to 
withdraw from the world. After some months, 
however, at the repeated entreaties of the 
youth, he was received into the novitiate, and 
his whole demeanor bore marks of a true voca- 
tion. He grew much stronger bodily also, and 
at the end of several years was able to receive 
the Sacrament of Holy Orders. The Superiors 
of the monastery had discovered a talent in the 
young man which had lain dormant in his 
father's castle. The young monk, Father Ga- 
briel, as he was now called, had an exquisite 
voice and a perfect ear for music. When he 
sang, the people wept, for his voice thrilled 



244 



Belgium, 



them like that of an angel; and when he 
preached, multitudes flocked from far and near 
only to hear the sound of his voice. 

When he was about thirty years of age, his 
Superiors resolved to send him on a voyage with 
others of their Order, partly on account of his 
health, which needed change of air, and partly 
from the fear lest the adoration which the people 
would manifest toward him should destroy his 
humility, the greatest charm of his character. 

He was sent out to the west coast of Africa 
with four other missionaries, two of whom had 
already been out for several years in the dis- 
trict and had baptized many of the natives. 

They landed at Cameroons and pushed up- 
country for three weeks, when they arrived at a 
village (Benbengorri), where Father Reginald 
had spent the greater part of his missionary life, 
and where there were many Christians. 

Father Gabriel was left in this village with, 
another young missionary, Father Anthony, 
who had been out with Father Reginald for 
three years, while the others pushed on still 
farther into the interior. 

At first it seemed as if they made no prog- 
ress; the native Christians were faithful to their 
duties, but no new converts offered themselves 
for baptism, They came into the missionaries' 



£be crown ot Xfte. 



245 



hut often enough to gratify their curiosity or to 
get what they could out of the " white-robes" in 
the way of ribbons and glass beads; they 
would listen to Gabriel's singing for hours to- 
gether; but when he stopped and began to speak 
of their religion, they gradually slipped away, 
one by one. The children were allowed, how- 
ever, to remain with the missionaries as much 
as they pleased, and the missionaries took great 
pains with them, and formed them into classes 
according to their age and intelligence, and 
hoped great things for the future through them. 

One day Kantaniva, the chief, sent for the 
priests and informed them that his father, a 
very powerful king, had heard of them and of 
the great "music-maker," as they called Ga- 
briel, and that he wished to see him and hear 
him for himself. The missionaries, fearing to 
neglect any means for winning souls to God, 
assented, and Father Gabriel set out in the 
painted bullock-cart which the King of Massin- 
aboto had sent to bring his visitor in state to 
his court. 

The Massinaboto royalty and court were de- 
lighted with their visitor; they made him sing 
till he was hoarse; they let him speak at will 
of his religion. Some even entreated to be 
baptized, and after three weeks' instruction 



246 



Belgium* 



showed themselves so earnest and consistent 
that he did all he could to prepare them for the 
holy sacrament. Among the catechumens were 
two sons of the king, Kantaniva's brothers. 

One day he had gathered his little flock 
around him and was speaking to them of the 
sacrament of penance, when the door of the hut 
was broken open and a messenger from Kanta- 
niva rushed in, all hot and breathless, and, 
throwing himself at the feet of Father Gabriel, 
burst into tears and sobs. 

The Father spoke gently to him, trying to con- 
sole him, and asked him to tell him his grief. 
With many tears and sighs the messenger made 
known to him that in his absence Quonatako, 
a fierce chief of the Carrabitos, had made war 
on Kantaniva and taken his wife and children 
prisoners. Kantaniva was in the deepest dis- 
tress; there was no hope of recovering his dear 
ones, who were to be put to death, unless 

The man stopped, tried to speak, burst out 
into fresh sobs and groans, till Father Gabriel, 
with a touch of his old impulsive manner, bade 
him speak out without fear. 

" Quonatako will give up Kantaniva's dear 
ones," he said, "if — if — if the music-maker will 
give himself for their ransom. He has heard 
that the Father is a great magician, and that it 



XLbc Crown ot %\U. 



247 



is he who has made Kantaniva rich and pros- 
perous, who has made his cattle increase and 
grow fat, and who preserves Kantaniva from 
his enemies. Kantaniva's father says he will 

help the Father to escape, but " 

" I do not wish it. I am ready ; we will start 
at once." 

Father Gabriel took a hasty leave of the king 
and his family, who, weeping, implored him in 
vain not to sacrifice himself. He set off at once 
with the messenger, travelling in the bullock- 
cart most of the way to save time. 

They reached at last the village, once so quiet 
and peaceful, now in the direst confusion ; all the 
outside palisades were broken down and many 
of the huts burned and destroyed. Kantaniva, 
who had been anxiously looking out for their 
arrival, rushed out to meet them, wringing his 
hands and groaning. 

" I knew you would come," he cried to Father 
Gabriel. " But see ! " He pointed to six savage 
warriors, horrible to behold with their faces 
painted red and orange, their waists girdled 
with belts of human bones, their hair dyed 
with the color of blood, to represent their mur- 
derous intent. " They want to take you at 
once," continued Kantaniva, "for you will go; 
oh, say you will go ! " 



248 



^Belgium. 



" Yes, I will go ; but I must speak to my 
brother first. They don't want him, do they?" 

"No, they only want you; they think you are 
a magician." He went into the hut. Father 
Anthony was kneeling in a corner, praying. 
He had heard the shouts and acclamations of 
the people at the approach of his brother mis- 
sionary, and he trembled to know the decision. 

He clasped Father Gabriel to his heart without 
a word, looking anxiously into his eyes for the 
answer to the question his lips could not frame. 

Gabriel smiled — his old, sweet smile. " I am 
going," he said. " Take my rosary ; hide it with 
the sacred vessels. Forgive me if I have ever 
pained you or made your life harder to bear. 
God bless us both, and reunite us in His king- 
dom. My love to all, if ever you " 

The six savage warriors gave him no time to 
finish his messages to those at home. They 
burst in, seized the " magic music-maker," tied 
his hands behind his back, slipped a noose over 
his head, which they drew tightly round his 
waist, and dragged him away, as if he were a 
dumb beast. Thus they travelled till night, 
when they made him lie down that he might 
serve them for a pillow. 

All the next day and the day after they led 
him by the rope, kicking him if his strength 



tlbe Grown of %ite. 



249 



flagged and his pace slackened. Sometimes 
they ran at full speed, dragging him on the 
ground over stones and sand, through thorns 
and water, for at last he fell to the ground 
utterly powerless to continue the march. At 
last they reached Quonatako's kingdom. A 
large fire had been lighted outside the village, 
around which were gathered the royal person- 
ages and chief people of the tribe. Gabriel 
was led before the king, who asked him many 
questions about his God. Then he demanded 
of him the charm by which he had made Kan- 
taniva prosper, and would not believe him when 
he said that he had no power of himself. He 
made rich offers if the " music-maker" would 
remain and become one of the chief priests of 
his idols and sacrifice to them, and help him 
against his enemies. But the savage warrior 
would not listen to the words of Gabriel when he 
spoke of peace and love and the holiness of the 
religion for which he was ready to give his life. 

His offers being rejected, the king grew 
angry, and asked the Christian priest again if 
he would renounce his faith and become a priest 
in his kingdom. Furious at the refusal of the 
Christian, he ordered the men to torture him. 
They tore off his white robe and scapular, 
which they tore up into small pieces to keep as 



250 



Belgium* 



relics, as if there were some charm even in his 
garments. They kicked him, beat him with 
thongs of leather, rolled him on the ground 
over stones and rough gravel ; and at last, all 
bruised and covered with wounds, the Christian 
hero was set on a large pile of wood and a 
torch was laid around it. Then, for he had not 
ceased to call on his Lord during his tortures, 
he cried almost with exultation, in the words of 
the martyr-bishop, St. Ignatius, " The nearer 
to conflict, the nearer to God," but with him it 
was nearer the fire, nearer to God. 

And the savages danced with joy around him 
when they saw the cruel marks they had made 
on his delicate flesh and heard the hissing of 
the fire on his quivering limbs. 

He saw not, however, the weird light on 
those grinning faces, nor heard their diabolical 
shouts and cries. He was so high now, so 
near the Great White Throne, that he was con- 
scious of no other beings than the angels hov- 
ering round to bear his soul on high; he knew 
of no other tribunal than the court of heaven. 

Suddenly he half raised his head, and in a 
low, sweet tone, in which were blended love, 
pain, and rapture, he sang the " Salve Regina."* 

* When a Dominican Brother is dying, it is customary for 
the Community to assemble around his death-bed and sing 
the "Salve Regina." 



Gbe Crown of %ife. 



251 



The savages were stayed in their hideous work, 
spellbound by the beauty of that antiphon. 

The notes grew faint, and ever fainter; it 
was as though he were being borne upward. 
And gradually the distance softened the sound 
of his voice, till at last, he sank back, sing- 
ing "O clemens! O pia!" and entered into 
paradise to finish his greeting there right at the 
feet of his Queen. 

And was his death in vain? Oh, no. 44 Pre- 
cious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His 
saints." Many of the savages sought Father An- 
thony and begged to be taught the secret of the 
" music-maker's" courage and patience, and to be 
brought to the God whom he loved so dearly 
as to give his life with such joy for His sake. 

And we, too, what lesson should we learn ? 
That we must die to ourselves first of all, giving 
up our will in little things as in great ; so only 
our souls will " climb up to the knowledge, 
love, and performance of our duty to God and 
to our neighbor through the whole course of 
our life ;" and when we have been tried, we, too, 
shall receive the " Crown of Life." 



(Srana&a* 



the Vision of st. John of god. 

Whether you eat or drink, or whatsoever else you do, do all 
to the glory of God.—/ Cor. x.31. 
Every one that humbleth himself shall be exalted.— Luke 

xiv. 11. 

E are apt to think of the saints as the 
young cadet thinks of the Duke of 
Wellington, Frederick the Great, or 
Napoleon Bonaparte, as heroes to be 
reverenced and admired, but looked up to from 
a very great distance and spoken of with bated 
breath. And we say to ourselves : " Perhaps if 
we had fought under their banner, if we were 
within reach of them, we, too, might hope to 
fight with more courage ; we, too, might have 
stormed the fortress of our enemy, the devil, 
and perhaps have carried off a victory over the 
rebel host of the world, our own selves and the 
devil." 

This is vain dreaming. The saints rose to the 
heights which dazzle our view by slow and 
252 




Gbe Vision of St. 5obn of Gofc. 



253 



painful ascent, and were enabled to do many 
great and noble deeds because they were faith- 
ful in the least. 

What was St. John of God — who became such 
a great saint, and so confident and persevering 
in his prayers that the poor people used to say 
God sent trials that St. John might work mira- 
cles — but a poor boy, born of peasants, a shep- 
herd, then a soldier, a servant, a peddler, travel- 
ling with books and pictures. In all these hum- 
ble occupations he had one end and one aim in 
view — the glory of God. 

And so — not after years of spending and being 
spent in the hospital and among the poor and 
outcasts of Granada, but after years of hard 
work as a poor man, despised by all — John of 
God was deemed worthy of heavenly communica- 
tions, of the vision of his infant Saviour Himself. 

One day, when St. John was travelling in the 
country, with his pack of pious books and pic- 
tures on his back, his heart lifted in prayer to 
God, he met a little child, barefooted and so 
miserably clad that the saint, touched with 
compassion, took off his sandals and offered 
them to the child, but the child, smiling, tried 
them on, and gave them back to the saint, for 
they were much too large for his little feet. 

Then the saint, being ashamed to suffer less 



254 



©ranafca* 



than a little child, bent down and told the child 
to mount on his back and he would carry him. 

Laden with his double burden, the saint 
trudged on, the sweat pouring down his face 
(which the child gently wiped), his back aching 
with fatigue. At last, at a little distance, John 
perceived a fountain and, hard by, a tree. 

"Dear little brother," he said kindly to the 
child, " 1 will lay you down under the shade of 
the tree while I go to drink at the fountain." 

The child consented willingly, but as John 
was turning to go to the spring he called him. 

And John saw before him his Saviour and his 
Lord, full of the glory of His majesty, holding 
out to His servant a pomegranate cut in two 
and surmounted by a cross radiant with celes- 
tial splendor. 

And saying, " John of God, Granada will be 
thy cross," Jesus disappeared, leaving His ser- 
vant humble and grateful for this great favor. 

And thus we learn from the cross in the 
pomegranate, which is the emblem of charity, 
that the spirit of sacrifice is born of heavenly 
charity : " for if any man love Me, let him deny 
himself, take up his cross, and follow Me." 

And we know how the saint afterward found 
his cross at Granada. There he toiled night 
and day among the poor, working in the hospi^ 



Cbe li)t5ton of St Jobn of ©o6* 



255 



tal, begging for the poor in the streets, going 
out into the streets and highways to compel 
them to come into the fold of the Good Shep- 
herd ; and how, in spite of his boundless charity 
and self-devotion, he met with persecution, 
often from those to whom he had been most 
generous, and how he died at last, worn out by 
mortification and toil for the glory of God and 
the good of those around him. 

But the first lesson of all is humility, to be 
willing to be placed beneath in the lowest place ; 
to become as little children, who are not allowed 
to think that they know anything or can do 
anything alone. For St. John of God was hum- 
ble ; he was pleased to be despised and ill 
treated ; he thought himself the worst of sinners, 
and thus " he that is last shall be first, and he 
that is first, last ; and he that humbleth him- 
self shall be exalted." 



VALETE. 



Come to the manger at Bethlehem, 
For a little Child lies therein ; 

A little Child, with a Heart so large 
That it takes the whole world in. 

Yea, if others stand apart, 

We will press the nearer ; 
Yea, O best fraternal Heart, 

We will hold thee dearer ; 
Faithful lips shall answer thus 

To all faithless scorning : 
"Jesus Christ is God with us 

On this Christmas morning. " 



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